By Definition Evil
by UsuakariTOT
Summary: Time passes. Malik heals, Rishid questions, & Marik is fading into nothing. But hate does not fade willingly. Can Marik overcome the limits of his nature in time to save himself? What role will Ryou & Bakura play in all of this? M/YM Ri/YM M/R YB/R YB/YM
1. Part 1: Exist

The monkey on his back

**Author's Note****: This is something I dreamt up while struggling my way through **_**Enchantment**_**. At first I was wary of starting this fic because its theme seemed too reminiscent of **_**Control**_**'s. However, after writing the first chapter, this story began to take a different route completely. **_**By Definition Evil**_** is much darker than **_**Control**_**. It focuses on popular notions such as 'love' and 'evil' and how such notions are all dependent on human interpretation. Also, it contains my first use of Rishid as a main character (M n' M are the other two, of course). I hope you will enjoy reading **_**By Definition Evil**_** as much as I enjoy writing it. Thank you all for your support. Please tell me what you think of my story and don't be afraid to ask questions. –TOT**

**Disclaimer:**** All characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi. If not, 4kids would have to edit out a lot more than guns, cleavage, and phallic symbols.**

**Warning:**** This story is rated M for a reason. It contains cursing, rape, violence, physical and psychological abuse, and maleXmale pairings. If any of this offends you, I have no idea why you're reading Yugioh fanfiction.**

**By Definition Evil**

**Part 1**

_**Exist **__(past and past participle ex·ist·ed, present participle ex·ist·ing, 3rd person present singular ex·ists):_

_**1.**__ To have being or actuality; to be. __**2. a**__. To have life; live. __**b. **__To continue to live. __**3. **__To be present under certain circumstances or in a specified place; occur._

* * *

"I wish you were dead."

_Me too_.

"If it wasn't for you…"

_If it wasn't for you…_

"…I'd be free."

…_I could die like you want me to_.

"But if you were meant to die…"

_If I knew how to do so…_

"…then I would be meant to lead a happy life."

…_I still wouldn't_.

"But this not the case."

_I hate you too much to die just yet._

"Your existence always haunts me."

_One exists. The other lives_.

"More so when you are silent."

_That's the only difference._

* * *

Malik Ishtar was 22 years old, 6'1", and 153 pounds. He was naturally blond and naturally tan with purple eyes and a not so naturally hairless face that had long outgrown its adolescent femininity. He was living in Alexandria because of work and kept in touch with his siblings for the same reason.

Malik worked as an agent for the Wadjet Historical Society, an association dedicated to the preservation of ancient artifacts. The WHS had been founded some years earlier by the late Ryou Bakura, an esteemed archaeologist whose son, also Ryou Bakura, had gotten Malik the job. He worked as a locator of stolen objects, using his extensive knowledge of the underworld to track down artifacts that had slipped onto the black market. Malik derived little pleasure from his line of work. He'd seen enough of artifacts during childhood and considered dealing with criminals to be a nuisance. However, it was a job he was good at, and his paycheck was anything but modest.

Malik's apartment did not necessarily reflect the influence his monetary resources. It was located over one of the city's seediest pubs, and no amount of feverish scrubbing could combat its stench of ammonia and old cigarettes. Still, he didn't move out. Malik liked the anonymity, and it was always beneficial to live near one's work cite.

Malik had two living relatives—a sister name Ishizu and an adopted brother, Rishid. He avoided them as much as possible, not because he didn't love them but because he loved them too much. Love is by nature a painful emotion, and—unlike some—Malik Ishtar detested pain.

Malik's childhood had been far from stable. He grew up in the darkness, and, when he finally left that place, he continued a life of darkness in the sun. He was unruly to say the least. Theft, arson, and many more heinous deeds defined his teenage years, and there is little doubt the severity of his crimes would have escalated even further had not a very strange occurrence stopped him in his tracks.

When he was sixteen, at the height of his immoral behavior, Malik Ishtar began to hear voices. One voice to be exact. One voice so cruel and metallic and twisted that it couldn't have been human. But the hatred behind it certainly was, and it was this hatred more than anything that scared him into being good.

Still, benevolence wasn't easy. After the possession, after the darkness and the helplessness and the endless despair of it, Malik was bitter. Bitter because of guilt, because of shame, because he was tired, and because the voice never really went away. It was just remaining silent.

And the fact that he wished it wouldn't frightened Malik Ishtar more than anything.

* * *

_Malik Ishtar took the pain for granted. It was a part of him, a component both unpleasant and necessary. Without the pain he couldn't function. It reminded him to breathe, to move, to go on feigning his humanity._

_Feign. Sham. False. A lie. _

_That's all he had ever been, all he could ever hope of being. Malik Ishtar wasn't real. He was only a specter, a chimera made in the image of reality. But even if he wasn't real, even if his existence could be explained away as easily as 'bipolar disorder' or 'schizophrenia' or 'MPD', Malik held on to it._

_Why?_

_Because even a mental disorder has to hold on to something._

_Malik was never born in the literal sense. For a long time there was nothing._

_Then he just __**was**__._

_It was the most terrifying, painful, and unbearably lonely ordeal he had ever experienced. He had no memory, no face, no concept of what he was or what these sensations were that made his consciousness writhe in torment. He wasn't anything, just a part of the abyss that by some cruel twist of fate was made aware of itself. _

_Define 'existence'. _

_Malik couldn't, and even if he could, he had no concept of speech with which to vocalize such an epiphany. The only thing he was aware of was the commotion coursing through him that he would later learn to call pain. He didn't like it, but he clung to it because it was all he had. Even then, in his primordial state of utter ignorance, Malik Ishtar understood the consequences of letting go. The pain was a foothold, a crutch allowing him to flicker at the edge of reality. Without it he would lose all sense of himself and fall back into the nothingness he was before. _

_Gradually the pain became easier to hold on to. Hate slipped into love, and, though he did not know the names of these emotions, he understood that they were one and the same. So it was that when he felt fire cutting memories across his consciousness, Malik Ishtar wasn't afraid. He fell into the pain gladly, and for the second time in his life was confronted with something he did not understand._

_For the first time Malik __**saw**__, and what he saw was and was not himself. It wasn't like looking in a mirror—though that would produce a similar effect. Rather, Malik sensed that this blond, sniveling, bleeding creature was him or—at the very least—was something he was a part of. _

_This explanation didn't make sense, but age goes hand in hand with knowledge and Malik was still very much a child. He kept tabs on the 'other him' as time progressed, and soon a new emotion surfaced._

_Jealousy. More potent and dangerous than pain. Alone Malik's hatred or love or whatever he called it had been innocent. But with direction it sharpened and spread until he loved and hated and envied the 'other him' so much it overwhelmed him. But something got in the way of this jealousy. Malik knew enough by now to recognize it as love, but the love protecting the 'other him' was infinitely stronger than the love he felt writhing painfully in the darkness…so Malik hid, biding his time._

_The time came and Malik was hasty. He was too happy to be out, too greedy to touch and to breathe and to feel. He killed brutally and with the naivety of a child. As with Cain, Malik found the concept of death completely foreign…but he liked it. Or maybe not. The scent of his—of the 'other his'—father's blood made Malik's insides hurt and his mouth curve into a crazy grin. It was either nausea or euphoria. He had yet to know the difference._

_And then he was sent back. The thing—Rishid, he later learned to call him—woke up and banished him to shadows. __**But**__**Why?**__ Because Rishid loves Malik. __**But I am Malik. **__Are you? __**I…I…**_

_That's when he understood. Malik was not Malik because 'Other Malik' was Malik, and Malik and 'Other Malik' could not __**both**__ be Malik. Therefore he was…he was…_

_**Who am I? **_

_Who._

_This was how the creature who was not Malik discovered the meaning of existence. _

* * *

Rishid Ishtar was known for being selfless. He was also known for being Malik, or he had been at one time. Now he was only Rishid or Malik's Shadow as he was sometimes forced to remember. However, sometimes was becoming less and less frequent. He hadn't heard from the blonde in weeks now.

Malik only called for two reasons. It was either _I located the artifact Ishi wanted. Will you bring it to her?_ or _Rishid? Rishid…oh…oh nothing. I just…I had that dream again_. The latter hadn't been heard in months. It seemed that Malik's mental scarring was healing nicely, and Rishid…

Rishid felt completely useless. It wasn't that he wanted Malik to go PTSD on him or anything. He just wanted contact…recognition. Maybe he was tired of being Malik's –unnoticed, underappreciated, unloved—Shadow. Maybe he felt just a little bit used. Maybe…

Maybe he was just bitter because he couldn't tell Malik his secret.

Because, like Malik before him, Malik's Shadow had also begun to hear voices. One voice to be exact. And, like Malik before him, he was desperately frightened. Because he wasn't crazy. He knew this voice as well as he knew himself.

_Tell me who I should hate._

The first words it ever said to him. The look of evil that crossed his young master's face. Rishid knew then that he had been right to carve the sealing spell into his face. To contain that evil. This was his purpose.

But Malik would never know his newest secret. Rishid would suffer the monster's voice alone, and somewhere in the darkest corridor of his heart, he would take from his master's ignorance a vicious pleasure. For there was never a venom so sweet as that gleaned from the self-gratification of an unsung martyr, and the line between selflessness and sanctimony is perilous to begin with.

* * *

_After his first escape attempt failed, the creature who was not Malik Ishtar learned the art of patience. He learned to see through Malik's eyes and to hear through his ears and to feel the things he felt, and because of this he was able to come to several conclusions. _

_He concluded that the outside world was inherently bad but still much better than the hell in which he himself existed. _

_He concluded that he was not meant to live in the outside world._

_He concluded that, because of this, the outside world should be destroyed._

_He concluded that the only way to do this was to take over Malik's body._

_He concluded that he was strongest when Malik was very angry._

_He concluded that eliminating Rishid would also play a key part in aforesaid takeover._

_He concluded that all his goals were fueled by mindless, aching, soul-wrenching hate and that this hate in turn was fueled by jealousy…jealousy and something else that flickered on the borders of his limited emotional spectrum and could not be defined._

_The second chance came, and the creature who was not Malik Ishtar failed again. __**Good**__ prevailed, and when he begged for mercy, __**Good**__ shook its—scrawny, predestined, not__**alone**__—head and said "No." Yet again, the creature was left to his conclusions._

_He concluded that he had fought to destroy the world and that he had begged to stay in it and that these facts contradicted each other and did not make sense._

_He concluded that, because of this contradiction, he must be deceiving himself and that perhaps his desires were more complicated than destruction._

_He concluded that he wanted to exist separate from the darkness._

_He concluded that, to accomplish this, he would have to become owner of Malik Ishtar's body._

_He concluded that this might not be possible._

_He concluded that, assuming it __**was**__ possible, his current tactics weren't working._

_He concluded that Rishid was still his biggest obstacle because Rishid loved Malik Ishtar and hated 'Other Malik'._

_He concluded that he was 'Other Malik'. _

_He concluded that if Rishid loved Malik Ishtar then Malik Ishtar was whomever Rishid loved. _

_He concluded that this reasoning could take him somewhere._

'_Other Malik' was once again submersed in the darkness from which he had risen. The shadows tore at him, tried jealously to call him back into the nothing from which he came, and, as always, he combated them with his hatred, using insurmountable rage to keep his existence from falling apart completely. _

_Hatred took effort, and he was getting weaker. It was when he thought that he might finally slip into nonbeing that 'Other Malik' decided to act. The plan had been ready for a time now, but in truth he was scared to act upon it. The new scheme involved matters in which he had little experience. In a way he was striking out blindly, but 'Other Malik' had no other choice. He could not die, but he could very easily be erased._

_He held his metaphorical breath and reached out._

"_**Rishid Ishtar, can you hear me?"**_

_Despite an admirable effort, he was unable to keep the metallic, heartless twang from saturating his voice._

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry that the first part is so short. It's meant to be more of an introduction than an actual chapter. There will be a lot more action in upcoming installments. I promise!!**

**Please review.**

**-TOT**


	2. Greed

**Warning****: Most of the chapters from here on out will be of a graphic sexual nature. If you find this sort of thing offensive, please don't continue reading. If you have no problem with it, enjoy this story to the fullest.**

**By Definition Evil**

**Part 2**

_**Greed: **__n. A rapacious desire for more than one needs or deserves, as of food, wealth, or power; avarice._

* * *

"Malik called. He's coming home for Christmas."

Rishid glanced up at his stepsister from across the table and smiled. "Is he? That's wonderful."

"Yes." Ishizu paused to sip from her chardonnay. "We've never celebrated Christmas, but I thought it would be a good time since it's so close to his birthday. That, and he gets so depressed this time of year, what with…" Ishizu's voice died off. The past wasn't something they talked about. "…anyway, he'll be flying in on Thursday. Will you pick him up?"

"Of course. It will be nice seeing him again."

Ishizu nodded and smiled. She'd been happy lately. The museums she had established under the jurisdiction of the WHS were being greeted with praise, and even her personal life—a romance with one millionaire, Seto Kaiba—was unfolding marvelously. The years of darkness behind her, Ishizu was emerging as the beautiful, successful woman she had always dreamed of being.

Rishid just followed in her slipstream. He was happy that she was happy.

"Excuse me, but I feel a bit tired. I think I'll go to bed." He bowed Ishizu good night and mounted the staircase.

"Alright." She smiled at him, eyes bright as they had never been in youth. "I'll wake you up at eight."

Rishid showered quickly. He didn't look in the mirror. He didn't condition. Then he brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas. He pulled back the covers of his neatly made bed and got in. The ceiling fan gyrated lazily above his head. It reminded Rishid of a toy windmill.

"_**Answer me."**_

He wouldn't.

"_**Even if you ignore me, I will not go away."**_

He didn't care.

"_**Please, Rishid. Please talk to me."**_

The creature could beg to its heart's content.

"_**You will answer me."**_

At last, it was showing its true colors—a demanding monster that had no right to torment him.

"_**It doesn't matter. I'll reach you in your dreams soon enough."**_

The voice receded, and Rishid felt he might be sick. He had seen violence and despair beyond anything a man should see, but at this moment he could honestly say that he had never been more terrified in his entire life.

* * *

"So you're going to D.C. to visit your family for a week?"

"Yeah." Malik nodded to the white-haired college student sitting on the dingy loveseat. "For Christmas."

Ryou frowned. "I'll miss your birthday."

"That's alright. You shouldn't get me anything."

"Why not? I'm your friend, aren't I?"

Malik gave Ryou on of his flitting smiles. "Yeah."

_One of my only friends_.

"Then let me get you something." Ryou beamed back at him and took a large gulp of coffee. "It's so nice to get away from my studies for a bit. Thanks for having me here for dinner."

"No problem. I can't say my apartment is much to look at, but…"

"Oh, it's not much better than the dorm I'm living in at the university. I'm afraid if I sneeze too loud the place will collapse!"

They laughed together at this. Polite, grown-up giggles.

"Seriously though, I…I'm really grateful. I was so lonely until I met you again. You're a wonderful person to be around, Malik."

The blonde blushed and averted his gaze from Ryou's face. No one had ever called him wonderful before. He didn't deserve it. "I was lonely also." Looking up, Malik realized he'd been talking into thin air. Ryou was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear him clattering about in the kitchen. He followed in his wake.

"Where are your paper towels?"

From where he stood in the doorway, Malik shrugged. "I…uh…I don't think I have any."

"Oh." Ryou chuckled at this—not polite, grown-up chuckles, but actual laughter. "You're such a scatterbrain sometimes, Malik." He wiped his hands playfully on the Egyptian's t-shirt. "How am I supposed to dry my hands without…"

Malik blushed brightly as Ryou's damp palms made contact with his shirt. He wasn't used to being touched, and, even if the white-haired foreigner was his friend, his cheeks began to tingle.

"S-sorry, I…"

"It's okay." Ryou pulled the blonde into gentle hug. "Seriously, I don't know why you're so reclusive. If people knew how great you are, surely…"

Malik wasn't listening. All he was aware of was Ryou's chest against his own, his still wet palms pressing lightly on his back. It was strange but comforting. Ryou was his friend. Ryou was…

Ryou was kissing him. Softly on the lips, sweet and chaste at first but growing steadily more hungry. A minute later and there was tongue. Malik found himself pushed up against the kitchen counter. It was his first kiss. He was happy and a little bit afraid.

"I hate seeing you so lonely."

A hand made its way under Malik's shirt. He gasped as it rubbed one of his nipples, setting off wincing, good-bad sensations beneath his navel. His gasp caused the kiss to deepen, the palms to rove more freely. That Ryou was a creature of such lust astounded him. He was overwhelmed. He felt inadequate.

"I've never…"

…done something like this before?" Ryou smiled, beautiful and alive and full of promises. "Don't worry. I can show you if you'll let me."

Malik consented. He allowed Ryou to lead him to the bedroom, to lay him down on the mattress and kiss him stupid. He let the boy's pale hands work their magic. After the incident at Battle City, lack of control scared Malik, but he trusted Ryou. His hips twitched as the younger boy licked the trail of golden fuzz that disappeared beneath his jeans. He wanted desperately what was about to happen, but in a way he dreaded it as well.

"Can I take your clothes off?"

Malik laughed nervously and nodded. If he said no, Ryou would not force him. However, the blonde wanted to be forced. His revenge-driven adolescence had left no room for something like this. He wanted to feel the intimacy of another's flesh. Even if it scared him.

"You're so pretty. I wish my body was as nice as yours."

"It's not…yours is…"

Malik's shirt slid off easily, exposing his torso—whole on one side, fractured on the back. He watched as the paler boy removed his own top. His chest was lightly chiseled, skin pale and flawless except for a thin scar running below the shoulder his left arm. The blonde reached up to trace it. He bit his lip against the emotion of the mark's slight roughness.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I…I didn't think it had scarred like that."

"Oh, this?" Ryou turned to the blemish and laughed. "Just my yami's foolishness. It's nothing to worry about."

"It was my fault."

"No." The boy shook his head firmly. "It wasn't."

Their lips connected, and Malik was surprised as his tongue was drawn into the other's mouth. Ryou tasted like coffee and artificial sweetener. His hair brushed Malik's shoulders. It wasn't as soft as it appeared.

"You shouldn't beat yourself up for what happened." Ryou's fingers popped the fly of Malik's pants, moving down to flirt with the hemline of his boxers. "You were sixteen for God's sake! As a child, you're father…"

"Ryou!" Malik arched his back in astonishment as the paler boy's thumb brushed his half-erect arousal. "Wh-wha…"

"Shh…just relax." Ryou smiled and ran his palm back and forth along the blonde's member. "You really are new to this, aren't you?"

"…uh…uh huh…" Malik threw his head back and moaned. Where had Ryou learned to do this? In college?

"Why is that, I wonder?"

"I don't…never really had the…oh _fuck!_"

Ryou's hand encircled him completely, moving in short jerks to bring the blonde to full attention. Malik watched dazedly as his pants were removed. He was vaguely aware of being embarrassed by his nakedness, of being surprised that, without stimulation, Ryou was as erect as he was. The pale-haired boy leaned over him, allowing his arousal to brush against Malik's abdomen. He gave the blonde's nipple a playful tweak, kissed him softly between the eyes.

"Will you have sex with me?"

_Ryou…_

"I've never…"

"Don't worry. You'll do fine. Here, I can stretch myself."

Malik watched with a mixture of fascination and disgust as Ryou prepared himself. He was turned on by the evolution of the paler boy's expression—how it slipped so subtly from pain into arousal that he barely caught the difference. After about a minute, Ryou must have judged that he'd done an adequate job, for he ceased his ministrations and came up to straddle Malik at the hips. He pulled a tube of something from inside the pocket of his discarded jeans.

"R-Ry…"

Malik broke off into a shriek-like groan as said boy squeezed something cold and gelatinous onto the tip of his arousal.

"It's just a lubricant. Makes things easier."

Patting the blonde's cheek in reassurance, Ryou began to slide his hand down his shaft, spreading the substance as he went. Malik winced at the sensation, wondering dimly why Ryou would carry something like lube around with him.

"Are you ready?" The paler boy hovered over him, kissed him quietly on the lips."

"…yes…"

Cold was replaced with heat and apprehension with unmanageable ecstasy. Malik's eyes rolled back. His back arched. He felt like he was going to start crying. This was unreal, a hallucination. Hell, he wasn't even in love with Ryou! Though, the blonde supposed, love and lust were entirely different feelings. He was aware of the other boy gasping, of the sensation surrounding his arousal fluctuating—cold, hot, cold, hot, cold, hot—in time with his hiccoughed breathing.

Tentatively, Malik began to move in time with Ryou's rocking. This was not something he had done before. What if he was horrible in bed? What if Ryou…"

Malik's anxiety was swallowed up by the paler boy's keening moans. They became lost in each other, both physically and in the abstract. Hips and hands and agitated, wanting voices. Sex was all about greed. Taking from others, nurturing desire until it became a force entirely its own. Malik was vaguely aware of this truth. Ryou's knowledge was probably quite a bit clearer.

"…harder…g-go…I'm almost…"

Ryou came all over Malik's stomach. The blonde lasted perhaps ten seconds longer before he, too, reached his climax. His orgasm hit in a flash of white, so sudden it surprised him and so intense it was almost uncomfortable. When it was over, Malik felt as if he had run an entire marathon. His limbs hurt. His heart insisted on pumping blood at a rate that was no longer necessary. Ryou, too, looked exhausted.

Malik craned his neck to get a better view of the boy still splayed out across his chest. As the effects of his orgasm receded, his natural insecurity reasserted itself. Once again he blushed at their nakedness, at Ryou's sweaty face smiling back at him.

"You're pretty good. Hard to believe it was your first time, actually."

Something clicked in Malik's mind, and a sigh escaped his parted lips. He had never been more grateful for the pale boy's friendship. The ease of Ryou's demeanor leaked into him, and he relaxed just a little.

"I've wanted to…for a long time…you have no idea." Ryou babbled softly, lips tweaked in a sensuous, slightly embarrassed smile.

"Uhh…you have?" These were the first words Malik was able to utter. He was too tired to be eloquent.

"Yes." Ryou laughed softly and reached up to flick a strand of hair from Malik's eyes. "I've always been attracted to you. It was one of the reasons I sought you out when I learned you were in Cairo."

"Oh."

"And you've turned out to be such a great person. Really, Malik, I'm lucky to have you as a friend."

Ryou kissed him again, and Malik found himself wondering what he'd done to deserve something as wonderful as the pale boy's friendship.

"I'm lucky, too, Ryou."

He really was.

* * *

Much to his relief, Rishid's dreams remained unhaunted by his master's monster. It seemed that the creature had given up, or, at the very least, was currently preoccupied. He stumbled downstairs to pour a cup of coffee, knowing that Ishizu had already left for work.

_Perhaps there was no voice. Perhaps I merely imagined it._

This thought was consoling and completely inaccurate. What Rishid had heard was, indeed, the voice of Malik Ishtar's darkness. He couldn't keep ignoring it. If Rishid did not act, who knew what means it would resort to?

Above all else, he could not let that thing get to Malik. He would die first. He would…

"_**Rishid, can I ask you something?"**_

Rishid's mug hit the floor with a resounding crack. Bits of glass and scalding coffee fanned out across the linoleum floor.

"_**Rishid?"**_

"**Get out of my mind." **He said this without thinking, without remembering that, at all costs, he must avoid talking to it.

"_**You should know by now that that isn't going to happen."**_

Rishid gritted his teeth. He wouldn't reply…not this time…not even if it begged him…not even if its voice was a bit weaker than before.

"_**Rishid?"**_

God, he hated when it said his name!

"_**Does Malik love you back?"**_

He didn't have to answer. Malik's darkness was suddenly gone.

* * *

_The creature who was not Malik Ishtar was in turmoil. Until now, everything had gone according to plan. He'd established contact with Rishid, had even managed to get him to react. _

_However, something had broken his concentration. It came from the part of him that was still connected to Malik, the little shred of awareness he had to maintain if he wanted to keep a grip on his own reality. It was both like and unlike pain. Probably natural, but certainly not something the creature who was not Malik had ever experienced before. He sweated because of it, moaned loudly and longed for something he was unable to define. It was like trying to breathe without knowing how, attempting to run with legs that had been cut off. _

_As in birth, he was completely ignorant and very much afraid. _

_A more easily recognized but equally undesirable presence was also plaguing him. A creature from the annals of history, three thousand years of darkness still trapping victims in its hate. The ghost who called itself Bakura stood beside him as he writhed in the shadows. His smirk was delicate—a gesture of refined sadism. _

"_How can you hope to defeat Malik when you're still unable to comprehend the most mundane of human tendencies?"_

_Mundane? How the fuck was this mundane? He waited impatiently for the specter to elaborate, all the while combating the thing inside him that threatened to explode. _

"_It must be true then, that your host is inexperienced. I'll admit I had my doubts."_

"_F-fu…Bakura, what's happening to me?!" He hated himself for asking this, but he hated the unknown sensations even more. _

_The smirk of the Thief King widened, and he knelt down so they were at eye level. "You mean you have no idea?" He reached out, hand stroking the blonde's shaking, shadow-ravaged body. "I suppose I could show you. Would you like that?"_

_**No**__. But he had little choice in the matter. Already, Bakura was moving closer. He crawled to him with the treacherous grace of a feline, pale body infuriatingly immune to the darkness' cloying hunger. _

"_I must say, banishment in the shadows has certainly left you much the worse for wear." _

_Why deny it? What Bakura said was true. The creature who was not Malik was slowly being re-consumed. Already, his hands and feet were losing feeling, and his entire complexion appeared a bit translucent. However, the worst of the damage was internal. The shadows were slowly reclaiming his mind, pulling it apart in little pieces and luring him back into what he had been—or hadn't been—before. _

"_You're tired of fighting, aren't you?" Bakura placed a hand between his legs, causing the creature who was not Malik to jerk in astonishment. "Unlike you, I don't need to fight off darkness. Do you know why?"_

_Bakura paused, waiting for the question they both knew would never come._

"_Because I __**am**__ the darkness." He cackled, the revenge he had promised at Battle City a little more complete. "But I am also merciful, and I am more than willing to give you an education, little __**Marik**__."_

_**Marik. **__Was that his name now? He didn't like it—too much like an ugly parody of his host's name—but he didn't know how to reject it. Was the luxury of rejection even allowed when it came to giving names?_

_However, Marik was not given a chance to ponder this. He was distracted by Bakura's hand on his crotch, by the nervous, uncomfortable feeling inside him that was so incompatible with his usual vehemence. He tried to fight back, but in the darkness Bakura was stronger. A pale, naked body loomed above him, standing out in the darkness but emitting no light of its own. The gaze of the Thief King did not follow the angles of his equally unclothed figure. Rather, Bakura stared straight into Marik's eyes, more turned on by helpless confusion he found in them than by anything physical._

"_You're reacting to me, Marik."_

_And he __**was**__. A foreign emotion crept nefariously into the younger monster's thoughts. He couldn't put a name on it, but it made him avert his eyes and long to run away. _

"_Don't be ashamed, little Marik. This is only natural."_

_**Shame**__. That was it. _

"_Don't touch me, Bakura." He struggled despite the futility of his situation, more out of personal obligation than actual hope. He couldn't submit. Rebellion was too ingrained in Marik's nature. Never stop fighting. That was his mantra. _

_But it was hard to fight with a hot tongue being dragged up his chest, with dexterous, sharp-nailed fingers teasing him far too intimately. Marik almost screamed as those nails dug into the tip of his hardness. It was agony, but not the kind of agony he was used to, the kind he had learned to harness or cast off in a bought of unmanageable laughter. This was something completely different. It bordered too much on pleasure to be captured and was too embarrassing to be laughed at. _

_So he combated it with anger. Brought up by the dredges of his blackened heart, Marik threw his rage at Bakura with all the energy he had left. He cursed, bit, played little shadow tricks with what magic he had left. His vaguely translucent limbs lashed out, and the paler spirit was forced to pin them down with magic of his own._

"_You're not being very reasonable," he spat out through gritted teeth. "You should be thanking me for giving you something so enjoyable."_

"…_fuck, Bakura…fuck…I'll kill you…"_

"_No you won't." The thief King grinned and for a moment his brown eyes seemed almost crimson. "You will grow weaker and fade back into nothing, but not before I've taught you something."_

_Bakura's malicious fingers let go of Marik's hardness and moved lower. They explored his sensitive flesh almost gently before shoving themselves roughly inside him. The blonde shouted in surprise. He tried to fight back, but his immobile legs were spread too far apart for it to make a difference. What the fuck was Bakura doing to him? How long had it taken him to come up with this sick, twisted…_

_Bakura's fingers twitched, and Marik's body gave an involuntary shudder. Another twitch, and his body went into an all-out convulsion. "…Bakura…" Marik uttered the paler's name without thinking. He couldn't decide what was worse—the fact that Bakura could violate him so easily or the fact that he almost thought he liked it._

"_I told you," Bakura whispered hotly into his ear. "You love it. You bitch, you fucking love it!" He slid his tongue possessively over the darker's tan cheek. _

"…_the hell…the hell I do …" Marik snapped at the Thief King's tongue, missing the appendage but managing to sink his teeth deeply into the spirit's lower lip. Bakura shouted in outrage and jerked away, blood dribbling down his chin._

"_Have it your way, then."_

_The fingers were removed. His legs were spread wider. Suddenly, Marik was engulfed in the most horrible pain he had ever encountered. Dry and hot and angry, Bakura's erection forced itself into his body. His muscles refused to loosen, but clamped tighter around it, causing both spirits to cry out sharply. _

"_What's wrong with you, Marik? Don't you like it?"_

_The blonde screamed as Bakura pulled out and rammed himself deeper into his body. He felt the skin around the edges tear open. Blood, at least, reduced the friction. _

"_Come on, Marik! Tell me it feels good!" Bakura leered down at him—eyes bright, face split by a manic bought of laughter. _

_His body hurt in a way he had never thought possible. He bit his own lip to keep from screaming but choked on the blood that collected in his mouth. Marik hated Bakura, hated him with everything he had, but, in this situation, hatred would never be enough._

"_How can you expect to take over for Malik when you're not even human enough to make this feel good?"_

_Human enough? What was he talking about? What kind of human would.,_

"_Oh shit, Bakura! Oh fuck! Stop it!"_

_The paler spirit grinned as the blonde screamed his name and angled his thrust at the spot again. "Why? You know you like it."_

_He was wrong. Marik didn't like it. He hated being weak. He hated losing control. But his body felt differently. Three more thrusts left him stupid with shame and arousal. Another three, and he lost control completely. His hips jerked. His torn lips trembled, and for a long, beautiful moment Marik's vision was obscured by bursts of exploding starlight._

_When Marik regained awareness of himself, Bakura was gone. He was alone and unbound. His body was absolutely aching. Sitting up, a mixture of blood and cum spilled from between the blonde's thighs. A quiet fury built up in him as he stared at it, slowly realizing what Bakura had done to him. _

_That was sex?_

_And people thought he was sick! Hell, he wouldn't…he didn't like… _

_Gripping his hair in frustration, Marik allowed himself a quiet moan. He felt as confused and helpless now as he had at the dawn of his creation. How could anyone enjoy such humiliation? How could anyone equate what had just happened to him with love? To be debased in such a way. To be so blatantly and remorselessly used…_

_Marik concluded that people who denounced cruelty were hypocritical if they were willing to do such things to the ones they claimed to love._

* * *

_-_**TOT (This was probably one of my quickest (and raunchiest) updates ever. I haven't written more than one lemon per chapter in a long time. I had trouble with Marik's personality in this chapter. It's difficult to convey his naivety while keeping him in character. Ryou and Malik also took some tinkering. Usually Malik's the knowledgeable one and Ryou's innocent. I enjoyed flipping that around.)**

**Please review. Your opinions are very much appreciated.**


	3. Necessity

* * *

**By Definition Evil**

**Part 3**

_**Necessity n. 1.**__ Something needed for the existence, effectiveness, or success of something; a requirement. __**2.**__ Something that must inevitably exist or occur__**: a**__. That which is dictated by constraining circumstances. __**3**__. The state or fact of being required or unavoidable. __**4.**__ Pressing or urgent need, such as that arising from poverty, misfortune, or emergency._

* * *

_Darkness. Swarming before him. Every time he slept, relaxed, let his guard down in any way. It preyed upon weakness._

_And when it lashed out all he could do was scream. Scream in rage and agony and fear as it tore his existence. Tore until he felt, quite literally, that he was about to fall apart._

"_**...g-goddamn it…oh God...oh…oh fuck…"**_

_Marik moaned in pain as shadows slid across his skin. They entered him through his mouth, nose, ears, and rectum, exploring his insides more thoroughly, even, than Bakura._

"_**No!" **__Pleas were useless. "__**GET OUT OF ME!"**__ Marik's chest clenched in panic. He began to heave, blood and stomach acid dribbling haphazardly down his chin. However, the darkness wouldn't be dislodged. It clung to him jealously, in control of his body and groping insistently for his mind as well._

_The blonde resisted. Staring down at his clenched, translucent fists, Marik concentrated on existence, on being just human enough to escape destruction._

"…_**I won't…I will not surrender…you can't have me…I'll fight…I swear to God…I don't…don't want to die…"**_

_And he didn't. Even if his life was pointless, even if what he had couldn't be called a life at all, Marik would cling to it. It was better than the nothing he was before, the cloying, tar-like blackness from which he had painstakingly pulled himself. _

"…_**shit…oh f-fu…" **__He screamed again, tearing at himself in desperation. It hurt badly enough to push him past the brink of insanity, past the point where he was able to keep on fighting. Hatred stood no chance against the unflinching despair that fell upon him. Mariku __**wanted**__ to give up. He wanted to feel…_

_To feel absolutely nothing. To be free of pain. To be free of hatred. To be free of every emotion. Lust, even. Joy. Happiness, after all, was worse than anguish. Happiness deceived people, made them think their lives were worth something. But Marik knew the truth. He felt it in the darkness that engulfed him, had seen it glinting in Bakura's vengeance-loving eyes. Self-worth was an illusion created by minds trying to make sense of their reality. Good versus Evil. New versus Old. Intelligent Design versus the Theory of Evolution. Why did it matter who was right?_

"_**In the end, everyone dies anyway."**_

_This was the one thing Marik knew to be true. When you cut a person, they bleed. When you kill them, they die and do not come back. Existence ends in death. What lies beyond existence?_

_If he knew, perhaps he wouldn't be so afraid to die._

_Laughing at his hypocrisy, at his own, sickening deformation of humanity, Mariku continued fighting. He detested humans and their hope, but wasn't it hope that kept him going? Hope that one day he would be free, that he would one day escape this soul-tearing prison and live as something…as something more than what he was?_

_If this was so, then hope was indeed a foul invention. How many people had Marik harmed in the name of wishful thinking? How many people would he have maimed, tortured, killed to attain his goal? __**To destroy the world.**__ An objective this lofty could be fed on nothing less potent than the selfishness of hope. _

_The shadows tightened their grip on his body, and Marik screamed again in pain and laughter. Unlike the discomfort Bakura had put him through, this was an agony the blonde could laugh at. _

_He chortled as darkness clawed ruthlessly at his consciousness, grinned broadly and sobbed with every breath he took. How could he help himself? It was so funny! All of it! Ridiculous! What did it matter if he did or did not exist? In all the world, in all the galaxy, in all the markedly infinite universe and all the dimensions of space and depth and time that came with it, his being was confined to one dark spot in the back of a young man's mind. He meant less than nothing. His existence didn't even register._

_Since the moment of his birth, Marik's pleas had always gone unnoticed._

_And as this thought came to him, the darkness around the blonde thickened and blood from his scream-torn throat rose up and flecked his teeth with crimson. _

"…_**shit…I won't die…I can't…not yet…I…"**_

* * *

"How was your flight?"

"All right, I guess. A little turbulant."

"I see."

Rishid and Malik waited for Malik's suitcase at the Washington DC Airport baggage claim. They spoke to each other lightly, of weather and airplane food and other things that simply didn't matter. Rishid had slept badly, and blonde, though polite and apparently genuinely glad to see his stepbrother, seemed preoccupied with private thoughts. On the whole, they didn't talk a lot. It wasn't until they were halfway back to the apartment that Rishid even brought up the subject of work.

"Ishizu is very excited to see you. I also believe that she has more information on that Hindu tablet you're trying to dig up."

"The Gospel of Shiva?" For the first time, Malik really seemed interested. "I've been mining my sources for months. Nothing concrete, though. Only rumors."

Rishid smiled, glad to see the blonde stirring from his usual apathy. "Yes, though, from what I hear, the rumors almost as miraculous."

Malik laughed. "You have no idea! I've heard all sorts of stories about that stupid stone. Everything from it's cursed to it was brought here by aliens to it tells the prophecy of the end of the earth. Some seriously crazy shit."

Rishid nodded.

"One thing is interesting, though. The stories of everyone I've talked to all agree on one thing."

"Oh?"

"In order to obtain the Gospel of Shiva the seeker must make a great sacrifice."

A fearful thrill ignited in Rishid's stomach. "A sacrifice?"

"Yeah. It's a bunch of bullshit if you ask me. Even the name. Giving a biblically-styled title to an Eastern religion artifact? It reeks of falsehood! "

Considering all the magic he had seen, Malik's incredulity seemed laughable. However, Rishid supposed it did make sense in a way. By distancing himself from the paranormal Malik was also able to distance himself from the past, from the part of himself he would never quite come to terms with.

"Is this the place?"

The older man nodded as they pulled into the parking garage of a svelte-looking apartment complex. "It is. Ishizu's done the decorating. All sorts of artifacts and knickknacks she's picked up on her travels.

Though he had lapsed back into his air of careful detachment, Malik did seem to appreciate his sister's taste in interior design. Authentic katana from the Feudal Period. Zulu tribal masks. Greek idols. Even a display of exquisitely carved Celtic knots. The apartment was a museum in itself. Just one of the perks of being head curator of the world fastest growing museum branches.

"I'll show you to the guest bedroom." Grasping his suitcase, Rishid led the blonde to the spare bedroom in the back. "I'm going to take a light nap, but please get me if you need something."

"All right. Thanks."

He turned to go…

"Hey…Rishid?"

…and stopped in the doorway.

"Yes?"

Malik blushed. "It's nothing…just…well, are you all right? A-all I mean is that, well…you look really worn out."

Rishid couldn't help but smile. Despite his still prevalent faults, Malik really had changed for the better. "Don't concern yourself, Master Malik. I just haven't been sleeping well is all."

* * *

_Master Malik_… It had been a very long time since Rishid had called him that. The blonde felt guilty somehow, as if he had unconsciously demanded it. Still, he knew it wasn't his fault.

_An old habit. It must have just slipped out._

Malik was troubled by this. Above all else, he feared being remembered for what he had been. He didn't want to be 'that boy who went crazy and started a cult.' He wanted to be Malik Ishtar. Loving brother. Reliable person. A perfect fit in what society deemed the mold of normalcy.

He did not want people to think that what had happened at Battle City was the result of some sort of mental problem. Malik was no saint…but he wasn't a psychopath either. He wanted to forget the darkness of his past, to feel always the way he had felt two nights ago with Ryou wrapped in his embrace. Warm. As if nothing could stand between him and happiness. Could such a life exist? So devoid of torment and self-doubt?

Malik sighed and began to unpack. He didn't think so. _Not for me at any rate_. Being around his family almost made the blonde's sense of despondency worse. He felt undeserving. He felt inadequate. He had the insatiable urge to apologize…but apologize for what? For treating his loved ones like pawns? For killing his father? Maybe he should apologize for working against Fate. That, according to Yami Yugi, seemed Malik's greatest offense.

But this last transgression Malik would not repent. What was there to be had in life without the ability to chose? What lesson could be learned? What joy could be felt to its fullest extent, if not for the existence of a malleable destiny? All else, all else he would regret—the cruelty, the killing, the lies—but never that he had been brave enough to grasp for something unforeseeable.

The passion of these thoughts caused the blonde to feel dizzy, and he stretched out in exhaustion on the bed's freshly starched coverlet. Malik was tired from the trip and still a bit overcome by what had occurred between Ryou and himself. Remembering that night, his stomach would clench with a sort of nauseous joy. He wasn't in love with Ryou. Still, the knowledge that he was somehow wanted…

At that moment, Malik had never felt so content. Or nervous. Insecurity ran deep within his nature. It was the reason that, until that evening, he had never had a lover. The blonde pushed people away out of habit. Not because he was an introvert. Malik simply feared their judgment.

As he drifted on the brink of lassitude and true sleep, Malik wondered again at the level of desire hidden beneath the mild, chestnut of the gaze of Ryou Bakura. How could such a quiet, well-mannered boy possess such carnality? He didn't know, but in a way the blonde was glad they were apart. He did not wish to stop seeing the paler boy—on the contrary, his body desired him even now. Malik simply needed a moment to collect himself, to determine what came next.

He refused to be caught in the slipstream of an ill-made Fate.

* * *

_Rishid Ishtar dreamed of blackness, of an endless abyss infinite in its overwhelming completeness. __**Night **__did not begin to describe the absolution of such shadow. There was no starlight, no moon reflecting rays of a sleeping…yet Rishid __**could**__ see. He could see the hand in front of his face, his feet walking on something similar to ground. Muddy ground. He felt vaguely as if he were sinking,_

_What seemed truly remarkable was the absolute silence of the place. All the usual auditory information of life—wind, radio, the impersonal murmur of a crowd—were nonexistent. The only thing Rishid could hear was his own respiration, but this sound, like his ability to see his hands and feet, was contained completely within himself. It held no sway over the formless landscape by which he was surrounded. _

_**Maybe I've died**__. The darkness played sick jokes upon his thoughts. __**Maybe I'm in Purgatory awaiting judgment.**_

_Or maybe his time for judgment had come and passed. Maybe Rishid was already trapped in the bowels of the she-beast, Ammit. Only in the black corridors of the tomb keeper's caverns had he ever been so lonely. _

_With a compulsion only found in dreaming, Rishid continued walking. The idea of immobility somehow shocked him. In the featureless darkness, he longed for movement, expression, something that even remotely resembled life. _

_It was only when his prayers were answered that Rishid immediately changed his mind. A muffled scream violated the shadow's quiet. The darkness, before so passive, was suddenly alert and wriggling. Before so sure of his solitude, Rishid felt an ugly, crawling sensation in his stomach as he realized he was not alone._

"…_**oh God…oh God stop it…no…sh-shit, no…"**_

_This voice. Why? Why in the world did this have to be the voice to greet him now? Rishid ground his teeth in frustration, in fear. Of course. The creature had said so itself._

'_I'll reach you in your dreams soon enough.'_

_And __**it**__ had. It was in his dream now, testing, __**provoking**__ him. But what could this thing possibly have to say?_

"_**...out…get…g-get…" **__The thing was interrupted by its own high-pitched screaming._

_Despite himself, Rishid flinched. How unnatural! For such a dark and heartless voice to grovel…to…to __**plead**__ in such a way. It sounded almost as if the thing were...above all else, Rishid hated the idea of people being in pain. The need to protect was ingrained deeply in his nature, so deeply that nothing—not even reason—could deter it. In a way he blamed it on his empathy for Malik. The idea of another living creature being tortured did not sit well with him._

"…_**ah…ahh…" **_

_**This is a trap**__. Rishid continued moving forward. __**I'm a fool. He's only using me to get to Malik.**_

"…_**I can't…ahhh…please, God…I can't…"**_

_**He's probably faking it. **__This statement Rishid discredited almost instantly. Whatever plot the darkness of Malik Ishtar was concocting, the pain, at least, was real._

"…_**please…please…"**_

_He could see him—__**it**__—now, sprawled out naked in his path. Seemingly unaware of Rishid's presence, it jerked and clutched itself and continued to moan. He could find no sense in it. As far as he could tell, the creature was alone. However, it continued to beg as if…as if something were attacking it._

"…_**p-please…"**_

_Rishid flinched at the real agony lacing its voice. He hated pain. He hated to see __**anyone**__ so helpless and alone, but this…this was not anyone. This was the creature who had tortured his beloved Malik, who had killed the man he so desperately wished to call his father. Disheveled blond hair, eyes devoid of normal, human light. Everything he had come to hate. How could Rishid feel any sympathy towards such a base and uncouth…_

"…_**tell me…t-tell me whom I…"**_

'_Tell me whom I should hate.'_

_The first words it had ever said to him. Words so helpless and despairing that, at the time, Rishid hadn't known to be afraid. Despite the gravity of the phrase, there had been no true malice behind it, only a sort of childish hopelessness that was actually a little bit heartbreaking. Even now, he sensed in the words this same, unpracticed desperation._

"…_**please, I…oh, God…"**_

"_**Shh…" **__He couldn't bear it anymore. The voice was different. The very soul was different, but the nature of these pleas reminded him so much of… "__**I won't harm you. Just calm down."**_

_Thrashing wildly, the creature clawed bloody furrows into its sides and upper arms. Saliva dribbled from its mouth. Sweat poured. Its purple eyes, clenched shut against the torture, flew open occasionally to implore the emptiness above. It was painfully obvious to Rishid that it wasn't even aware of his existence._

"…_**I want to…ahh…I want…" **__It began to hyperventilate, shuddering sobs wracking its body until it moaned and choked and screamed and…_

…_and laughed. _

_It was laughing. In a strange, hiccoughed sort of way, it was actually laughing! This truth repelled Rishid. Revulsion now mingling with his empathy and hatred, he moved close to the blond, Malik-like creature lying at his feet. It did not acknowledge him but continued to chortle brokenly. __**He's a monster. He's absolutely…**_

_Since when was __**it**__ a __**he**__? Rishid stumbled back a little. He hadn't meant…that is, he wasn't…speaking of Malik's darkness as though it were human. Humanity meant kinship. Kinship meant…kinship meant he was responsible for actually helping this thing._

_Looking closely, Rishid realized that what appeared to be untainted skin was actually trapped in a net of vein-like shadows. Nearly imperceptible in the surrounding darkness, they clung to him tightly, made somehow more substantial by the blonde's evident terror of them._

"…_**get out…"**_

_They thickened around his mouth like a shroud, as if they wanted admittance. _

"…_**I don't…I want…"**_

_His chest rose and fell quickly, less out of need for oxygen—there was none in this abysmal dreamscape—than out of sheer panic._

"…_**can't…can't…but I want…ahh…" **__Without a final gasp, the blonde's struggles ceased. His mouth slackened and, aside from the occasional muscle twitch, his body became as still and stiff as death. _

"_**Are you all right?" **__Rishid said this without thinking, realizing only afterwards what a stupid and derisive question it was to ask. Of course he wasn't all right! He was…he was dying and in excruciating pain and even if the darkness of Malik Ishtar was evil, even if he deserved all of this and more, Rishid would not allow it._

_Without hesitation—hesitation would only serve to fracture his resolve—the taller Egyptian knelt beside that trembling darkness. His body shook with apprehension and disgust. Still, Rishid forced himself to reach out, to touch the agony-flushed cheek of his master's evil. _

_The blonde's reaction was both immediate and violent. His eyes flew open. His body jerked. His shriek-torn vocal chords gave a bark-like shout of surprise. For a moment the darkness' shocked gaze met Rishid's. Then, with a funny groan, he pitched forward to lie unconscious on the larger man's chest._

_Rishid was so shocked by this that it wasn't until several moments later that he realized the shadows tormenting the blonde had finally vanished._

* * *

_The lack of pain hit Marik like a well-aimed blow to the stomach. He felt drained without it. Relieved, yes, but also sort of empty. His was a nice emptiness, though, a serene one. Feeling took so much effort. He preferred to just to relax, to ease into the warmth surrounding him until he forgot everything—Bakura, Malik, shadows, hate. They didn't matter. Mariku was free for a moment, protected by something indefinable and bright. _

_Moaning a little, Marik tried to force himself deeper into the warm anonymity of this embrace. The pleasure he felt now was not unlike the brief, exploding sensation he had felt beneath the sadism of Bakura. However, it was more subtle, wholesome even. A sensation that bestowed without demanding. He had encountered nothing like it._

_For whatever reason, Marik likened this feeling to the color green. Having never seen actual foliage, his idea of green was warped, not bright and vibrant but old, granular. Marik's green was the deep olive color of ocean waves, the weathered acceptance of a gaze not quite bright enough to be called emerald._

_**His**__ gaze. _

* * *

_Rishid Ishtar was mute with horror. The blonde's body was so cold, so alike to death that he could not shake the impression that he was embracing a corpse. However, a quiet moan told him that the creature was far from dying. It even stirred a little, readjusting itself in his embrace. Rishid was struck by the jarring inversion of demeanor. One moment, screaming. And now? Now he was shivering and silent. Sleeping with the exhaustion of one whose burden has been miraculously lifted. _

_Rishid marveled at the calm of this unconscious face. Curiously enough, he—Rishid supposed it was a he after all—looked no more like Malik asleep than awake. Even with features relaxed and nasty gaze eradicated, the angles of his face seemed more extreme, contoured in away that had little to do with bone structure. __**Perhaps it is because he's underweight.**_

_No. That didn't explain it. The difference ran deeper, rooted somewhere in the soil of temperament and sanity. The fact was, this blonde was more unlike Malik than one would think, and Rishid was admittedly glad for it._

"…_**I told you…"**_

_The man shuddered. Purple, emotionless eyes assailed him. He hadn't even noticed the darkness waking up._

"…_**I told you we would meet…not like this…I didn't think…but…"  
**_

_Rishid jerked away sharply, and the blonde gasped, the larger man's body heat suddenly lost to him. He sputtered for a moment—a swimmer in an icy lake—before throwing him a reproachful look._

"_**Why is it that they don't attack you?"**_

"_**They?" **__Then Rishid understood. The shadow. That…that net thing. "__**What was it? Why did it attack you?"**_

_The darkness sighed, apparently over the unbearable pain he had just been forced through. "__**It was Nothing. I would say it attacked me out of jealousy." **__He paused for a moment to let loose a sardonic laugh. __**"But I'm fairly certain the concept of jealousy is beyond its grasp."**__ He chortled again, as though remembering some private joke. "__**Still, you came. Whether willingly or otherwise you're here, and I'm happy for that."**_

"_**Happy?" **__Rishid found this unsettling. "__**How does my presence make you happy?"**_

"_**What I mean to say is that you must not dislike me as much as I had though. After all, you did save my life."**_

"_**Listen, you…"**_

"_**Call me Marik."**_

"_**M-marik…" **__Rishid choked on the syllables. He didn't like the name. Not at all. "__**Listen, I have…had…no intention of saving your life. My loyalty lies with Master Malik. You don't even exist."**_

_Marik smirked, a gesture haunting for its wistfulness. "__**Your cruelty has never been convincing."**_

"_**Nor has your sanity!"**_

_Rishid needed to calm down. He was losing his temper, his ability to think logically. This was bad. Marik was nothing if not opportunistic. _

"_**You're no more sane than I am, Rishid." **__The smirk was gone, replaced with the equally unnerving callousness of the blonde's stare. "__**Let me ask you again. Does Malik love you back?"**_

"_**I…" **_

But Rishid's reply was ripped away by a storm of consciousness. Daylight pulled him from darkness and into the cool morning of a waking day. Cushions. A mattress. Cream-colored curtains glowing pink beneath the pall of sunrise. _I must have slept all the way into morning._A dream. It had been a dream and nothing more. Still, something unresolved and doubtful tugged at the edges of Rishid's mind. _Does Malik love me? Does he love Ishizu? Has anything about him changed at all? _

For the first time in a long time Rishid began to wonder.

* * *

"I can't believe you! I can't believe you would do that!"

"_**Can't you?"**_

Slamming a pot of something stewing on the stove, Ryou Bakura continued to scream into what was, apparently, thin air.

"Well, I _suppose_ I can…but seriously, Bakura! Did you have to…"

"_**How else was I to make him understand? He's even more obstinate than Malik."**_

"Malik's not…" Ryou blushed, severely irritated with the spirit living inside his head. "That is…"

"_**Oh come off it!" **_The voice of the Sennen Ring's former resident cut angrily across his consciousness. _**"Wasn't it enough for you to have sex with him? Don't tell me you're fucking in love with the guy!"**_

"I-I'm not." The flush in the young man's face became more pronounced. "Besides, this isn't about Malik!"

"_**About what I did to Marik, then? Don't even begin to defend him, Ryou! It's nothing short of what he deserved."**_

"No. I suppose not."

Exiting the sweltering kitchen, Ryou flounced lazily on the blue divan in the living room. He was on vacation in England and found the relative spaciousness of his family home a welcome relief to his dorm room's cloistered ambiance.

"Why did you go to him, anyway? I thought you said he was dying."

"_**Marik IS dying."**_ A chuckle entered the yami's voice. _**"Slowly his life is being drained away from him. Dying and alone. Who knows? By the end he may be begging for my companionship."**_

Ryou was by now used to the presence of the spirit and, to a certain degree, desensitized to his sadism. However, at times Bakura's cruelty was too complete to stomach. "D-don't…don't talk like that, you…"

"_**Monster? Do not forget, Ryou, what he has done to us."**_

Unable to speak around the catch in his throat, Ryou could only shake his head in helplessness In truth, he remembered very little of Battle City, having spent the majority of the time locked inside his soul room. As far as he could tell, the yami of Malik Ishtar, though wreaking havoc among Yugi and his friends, had done little more to Bakura than cut down his pride. Banishment to the shadows was nothing to the spirit, not when he had an accommodating host to come home to.

Ryou prayed every day that Malik and Yugi would not find out about his greatest sin. That he willingly harbored Bakura was not something that he was proud of. But what other choice did have? He'd made the choice out of sheer necessity. It was either that or…

…or be alone. Ryou had no family. Until recently, he had not even had what he could call friend. He had given into Bakura with surprisingly little hesitation, knowing that, without the Ring, the spirit's power was only a fraction of what it used to be. No longer could his body be possessed. However, at times Ryou's mind reeled with the shock of another consciousness. Bakura's companionship had cost him a great deal of both mental and physical privacy.

_But I'm not alone_. Ryou had to remember that.

"_**I suppose you'll want to see Malik again? Play pretend at being lovers?"**_

"Yes. I'd like that."

The spirit's words were laced with a subtle ferocity. _**"Naturally, I won't object. However, it is important that you remember your obligations."**_

"I know." Ryou smiled despite his anguish. He often marveled at the imploring nature behind Bakura's vulgarity. "I'll never leave you. I promise."

* * *

**-TOT (Sorry it took so long for me to update. I've been really busy with schoolwork and whatnot. I hope you like this chapter. And please tell me what you think of the Rishid/Marik interaction. It was surprisingly difficult for me to write.)**

**Please review.**


	4. Who

**By Definition Evil**

**Part 4 **

_**Who**__ (pron.): The interrogative pronoun in the nominative case. __**1**__. What or which person or persons. __**2.**__ That. Used as a relative pronoun to introduce a clause when the antecedent is a human. __**3.**__ The person or persons that; whoever._

* * *

Malik woke up feeling distinctly uneasy and physically sore. He'd dreamt about corridors, about darkness covering him and voices he could not quite recognize. He remembered warmth too, a comfort that somehow was and was not his own. Sitting up, it took him a moment to remember he was not in Egypt. No. Malik was in the United States, at his siblings' house.

"Are you up?" A short rap upon the door. "Malik, I'm coming in." The door creaked open and Isis stood before him. She was wearing a business suit—in sharp contrast to the linen robes Malik remembered—and carrying a bowl of oatmeal and some orange juice. He returned her smile shakily, trying to shrug off the lasting disquiet of his dream.

"Sister, it's been a while."

"It has."

Setting the food down upon the nightstand, Isis pulled Malik into a tight hug. The blonde was a bit surprised by this, not used to his sister being overly affectionate. However, it felt nice to be held in a familiar embrace. So accustomed was he to living on his own that Malik sometimes forgot how lonely he was.

"How is work?"

"Work?" Isis sat down beside him on the bed. "It's been going really well. We recently signed a deal with Kaiba Corp. for an investigation into the history of Duel Monsters. Seto's really interested."

Malik nodded. Rishid had said something to this effect the day before. "That's excellent. How is Kaiba, anyway?"

"Oh, he's…" The woman blushed, a vibrant tone that went surprisingly well with her normally placid features. "He's doing well, I suppose. Still a bit sore at Yugi and his friends, but, really, he's grown up quite a bit since Battle City."

_We all have._

"Grown up?" Malik choked out a teasing laugh. "That's a funny way to talk about your boyfriend, you cradle robber!"

"Hey! I've only just turned thirty!"

Malik laughed and stood, stretching his arms up toward the ceiling. "Don't be mad, Isis. I'm only…what is it?"

Isis shook her head, snapping out of what, for a moment, had seemed the equivalent of a trance. "Nothing, I…it's just…I'd forgotten how youthful your laugh was. It's a really…a really clear sound."

"Oh." Malik stared uncomfortably at his hands. Had it really been so long since he'd last laughed like that? "Uh…thanks."

"Y-yes." Isis rose to her feet. "Well, I wish I could stay, but I have to be at the museum by nine. Your breakfast's there on the table. When Rishid wakes up…"

"Rishid?" Malik blinked. He hadn't thought about it before, but it was uncharacteristic for the older man to sleep in so late. "You mean he isn't up yet?"

Isis shook her head. "No. He's seemed a bit off lately. Perhaps more sleep will be good for him."

"Yeah, I noticed the other day. He seems preoccupied."

"Yes." Shifting uncomfortably in her patent leather heels, Isis flicked open her cell phone and blanched. "Oh! I'd better get going. I'll be home around six…and when Rishid wakes up will you remind him to bring me last years financial files? I have to…"

Isis talked herself down the stairs and out the door, leaving Malik swamped in a disorienting silence. Not knowing what else to do, he wandered into the bathroom—he was sharing it with Rishid—and stared at his jet-lagged features in the mirror. However, the blonde had little desire to fix up his appearance. He merely observed himself, contemplating the uniqueness, the singularity of who he was.

_No one can take this from me. Not anymore._

On the bad nights, on the nights when Malik was lonely and regretful and depressed with the cards he'd been dealt, this thought alone revived him. Limbs, heartbeat, fingers, face—all were his. Most importantly, Malik's mind was his own. To love and to hate with as he chose. A mentality, whole and complete, something even his imposter could never steal.

Why? Because the darkness of Malik Ishtar was merely a byproduct of a sick boy's thoughts. It possessed neither the desire nor the humanity to comprehend what it was that made men different.

This is what Malik liked to tell himself.

"Good morning."

Rishid's reflection appeared in the mirror behind his own. He seemed to be nearly as exhausted.

"You didn't sleep well either?"

The larger man lifted his lip in an abortive attempt to smile. "Not really. Is Isis gone?"

Malik nodded. "She left a few minutes ago. Made some oatmeal, but I'm sure it's cold by now."

"That's alright. I'm not hungry."

"Me neither."

They stood in silence for a while, neither awkwardly nor in absolute comfort. Malik studied Rishid when he thought he wasn't looking. Physically, he hadn't changed much. Still tall. Still bald. Still possessing what Malik felt to be an unfairly masculine appearance. He was still silent as well, calm as ever. However, what had once been nature now seemed a convincing charade. There was an affectedness to Rishid's complacency. Malik remembered Isis' concern.

"Hey Rishid, are you…"

Turning as he spoke, the blonde met his brother's gaze. _**Green!**_ The color screamed at him. It seemed fabulous somehow—empathetic, beautiful, warm. Malik was overwhelmed, so much so that it took him a minute to realize that these emotions were not his own. _**Green! Green! Green!**_ The words resounded in Malik's head. They didn't belong to him.

Neither did the happiness, the pure, disturbed, pathetic happiness that now gnawed at him. But Malik knew it terribly well. Reason at the edge of madness. The glee of profound despair.

_Him._

With all the power of his terror behind him, Malik wrenched his eyes away from those of the other man. Immediately, the voice in his head clicked off. Like a light switch. The OFF button on a remote control. He collapsed to the bathroom floor and retched in relief, stomach content working its way into the grouting.

"Malik! Are you al…"

"Don't touch me!" Said blonde raised an arm in defense against Rishid's altruistic advances. "Rishid…" The character of his voice slid from authoritarian into pleading. "…don't…I don't know…what was that?"

As if he didn't know already.

A large, gentle palm touched his cheek and Malik forced himself—reluctantly, fearfully—to once more look into his brother's eyes. On doing so, the voice did not return. However, the stormy, brooding green of Rishid's irises left something unsettled in his stomach.

* * *

No words defined the terror Rishid felt when his sibling and former master collapsed vomiting to the bathroom floor. For a moment his mind went into shock, reverted upon itself. He was not aware of the scene before him, only that the shower curtain was uneven, that there were dead insects trapped in the inverted dome of the overhead light, thatsomewhere in the apartment a phone—destined to go unanswered—was ringing.

Then his focus came surging back to Malik, and he knelt down beside him. The blonde's broken sentences alarmed him. So did his anger and subsequent panic. Rishid hadn't seen him this frenzied since…since he was a sixteen year-old child under the possession of revenge.

But what brought such a fit on now? Did it have to do with a suddenly recovered memory? Marik? Or worse, Marik and himself? Had Rishid's interaction with Malik's darkness somehow brought this upon them? He felt he might throw up himself.

Slowly Malik's breathing steadied. When he seemed vaguely within the limits of consolation, Rishid helped him into the kitchen for a glass of water. He didn't ask questions, wanting to know the answers no more than the blonde wanted to tell them.

_He never does, never wants to tell anyone anything._

Malik's dishonesty—with others but mostly with himself—had on a subconscious level always bothered Rishid. It wasn't until actually admitting it to himself that he realized how much so.

"Rishid…" Malik grabbed his hand, twisting the gold ring he wore upon his thumb. "You'll never leave me, will you? Even…even if I…"

"No." Said man squeezed the other's palm in comfort. "I won't, Master Malik. You know that."

The blonde sighed and leaned against his shoulder, at peace if only for the moment. Rishid sat with him in silence, wrestling down his misgivings in favor of loyalty, of love. Malik was flawed, but so was every other creature on the planet. Even those not nearly so tortured as the young Egyptian.

But in the back of his mind, the darkness' words were ringing. _**Does he love you back?**_

* * *

With a sigh, Ryou dropped his phone back onto the nightstand. _He isn't picking up_. Not that Ryou knew what he'd say to Malik if he did. He just…just wanted to hear the Egyptian's voice…for stupid reasons. He was simply lonely.

_**Still pining over him, I see**_.

Bakura's face sneered at him in the reflection of the darkened window. The spirit's lack of physicality did little to tarnish the malevolence of his expression.

"I guess I am." Ryou stood up and shut the drapes. "I don't have many friends. You know that."

_**You call this infatuation friendship?**_

Ryou squared his shoulders against the other's frostiness. "Of course. What do you think I should call it?"

Bakura did not reply but instead sent his invisible fingers ghosting up Ryou's spine. The white-haired man twitched a little. "Bakura, why…"

_**Because I want to**_.

And he did. And there was nothing Ryou could—or would—do about it. There was no logic in trying to evade a ghost, and no amount of wishing could block out how good it felt to be held by one who almost understood him. So Ryou leaned back on the couch and let the spirit caress him.

Despite his malignancy, Bakura could be gentle. His hands were large, slender and firm but perceptive enough to make Ryou wriggle and cry out. They knew where to tease him and at what point they should go in for the kill.

Overwhelmed by the spirit's fingers snaking beneath his waistband, Ryou allowed his eyes to fall shut. Only in the absence of visual reality could he see Bakura clearly. He stood out clearly in the sightless darkness, ruddy eyes glaring into Ryou's with an intensity that was stifling.

It was at moments like this that Ryou feared the spirit. However, they were also when he felt for him the most pity. The insatiability of his carnality, the desperation of it. Just manifestations of Bakura's loneliness, so ancient and deep-seated Bakura himself could not define it.

"Ba…kura…" Ryou moaned as the spirit began to pull off his clothes, ashamed and excited by the unflinching attention of his stare. Bakura bit the pale expanses of his chest, the more intimate regions of his inner thighs. He fingered Ryou's entrance with his middle finger, shoving the digit deep inside.

_**Remember Ryou… **_His eyes didn't leave the lighter's face. _**Remember what this feels like. Am I as good as Malik?**_

"…better…" And it was true. Bakura had more experience. He knew Ryou's body more intimately than anyone. However, what the spirit did not know was that there was more to a relationship than physical compatibility. "…will you…Kura…please do it…"

Satisfied with Ryou's pleas and the assurance of his ignorance, Bakura positioned is erection between the mortal's legs. He moaned as he forced himself into the younger's tightness, overcome with sensation but refusing to close his eyes. Ryou had learned ages ago that Bakura liked to watch faces, his enemies' and lovers' alike. He got off on expressions, though—in Ryou's opinion—his reasons probably ran much deeper than arousal.

Ryou cried out sharply as the spirit pulled out and began to force his way back inside him. Bakura knew his body too well. The rhythm he set was flawless. So was his aim. Ryou's prostate felt almost punished when he was done with him. The spirit's grunts as he thrust in and out were comforting. Bakura's noises hinted at emotion, at a humanity clinging after even 3000 years of living death.

_**Can Malik make you feel like this? Can he fuck you like I can? Can he lo...**_

"…Kura…don't…" Ryou shushed him with a kiss, soft lips cutting off the other's manic tirade. "…I promised not to leave you…remember…"

Bakura did not respond to this. However, his features calmed, eyes taking on a less unsettling brightness. Ryou often had this soothing effect on him. Choosing his words correctly, he could render the spirit almost respectable, at least in private.

"…uh…I-I think…" Lights flashed before Ryou's eyes. His body jerked and he was dimly aware of Bakura's seed spilling into him. Sex with Bakura was often like this. Quick but satisfying. Accelerating rapidly into a startling crescendo.

Satiated, Ryou opened his eyes. Bakura's form vanished along with darkness. He was alone in the living room now, clothed, still able to feel Bakura's member softening inside him.

_**I have to leave for a while, Ryou, but don't forget. I am your master.**_

"I know." Ryou sighed and shook his head. _Master?_ Lately, he'd been starting to wonder.

* * *

_**Good Mood**__. This was not a term Marik would have ever imagined could apply to him. It seemed such a meaningless phrase, too mundane to apply to a creature such as himself. However, to Marik the mundane was remarkable. Something to be examined, reveled in._

_Because it was true. He was in a __**Good Mood**__. Why? Because his plan was taking shape. Because Rishid had talked to him. Because for once in his life he did not feel so cripplingly alone._

_**Malik Ishtar is whomever Rishid loves.**_

_As long as he remembered this, Marik was capable of hope. The pain, the endlessness and shadows were only temporary. Existence loomed before him, tantalized him, teased him by remaining just out of reach. But it was there at least, and Marik wanted it._

_He remembered how Rishid had touched him, how the warmth of his body had chased away the shadows and the pain. When he left—suddenly, vanishing like a candle's flame in sunlight—Marik had gasped as if submersed without warning into frigid water. Coldness retook him, made his body shake and the hair on his limbs rise up in goose bumps. The usual._

_But the memory of warmth remained and Marik—skilled in the art of mind games—could almost trick himself into believing it still existed. And though this warmth was but a memory, it wrapped itself around him and held off the shadows as Rishid's arms had done._

_This knowledge made the spirit blush for reasons he did not understand._

_Even now, hours later, the warmth was still inside him. He sat alone in the darkness, hands wandering over the body he had never really marveled at before. He had always thought of it as a sort of sham, a false vessel useful only for distinguishing himself from the surrounding soullessness._

_Which, in retrospect, was certainly not unimportant._

_His body's physicality startled him. So did its nakedness. The blonde had never before felt self-conscious about his lack of clothing. Self-consciousness in itself was a new concept entirely. But he felt it now, an embarrassment of his uncovered skin, of the way it tightened at his hips and grew a little darker between his thighs. Marik even took notice of his thinness. Ribs jutting out, elbows knobby, spine protruding and unattractive. _

_Ugliness was yet another concept new to him._

_And much to his chagrin, Marik understood perfectly that it had something to do with Rishid. However, after this revelation, his comprehension of the matter fizzled. Why? This was both the question that mattered most and the question Marik was most incapable of answering. Leaning back, the blonde gazed into the fathoms of emptiness above him. _

"_**Love."**_

_There had been a time when Marik thought he understood this cruel yet most radiant emotion. __**Love and hatred are synonymous. **__At least, this is what he used to believe. However, Marik's view of love was changing.__Was love the maliciousness with which Bakura had forced himself upon him? Or maybe it was the calm, lusterless green of Rishid's eyes. __**Impossible.**__ Both explanations seemed far too simple. _

_The blonde sighed. The concept of love confused him, angered him as did all things he could not comprehend. Maybe this was the real reason he was oft so full of hate; Marik's list of things he could not grasp was constantly growing, leaving him behind in frustrated unawareness. _

"_**Hate is love."**__ How he wished it were so straightforward! For if hate were love, Marik would already have the upper hand in winning over—dare he say, seducing—Rishid. If nothing else, the blonde understood hatred. He understood it as the small child understands his reflection in a mirror, inherently._

_How funny__**,**__ he thought, to know __**what**__ I am without comprehending __**who**__._

_Who? The word echoed, if only in his conscious thoughts. Who? Whowhowhowhowhowho are you?_

_He gave it a shot. _

"_I am __**Malik**__ and I am not __**Malik.**_

_I am __**hatred**__ and I am __**anger**__._

_I am __**sorrow.**_

_I am __**vengeance**__._

_I am __**loss**__._

_Most of all, I am __**hope**__…or __**hopelessness.**__ I'm not quite sure."_

_Not sure, eh? If you're not sure who you __**are**__, then who would you like to __**be**__?_

_This was an easy one._

"_**Malik Ishtar."**_

_Malik Ishtar? You're not hope! You're pure foolishness!_

_At the end of Battle City Rishid had said something about hope. However, facing imminent nonexistence, Marik had been too afraid and too in pain to listen. He would have to ask him though…__**the next time he came back. **_

"_**More lively than last time we met, I see."**_

_Bakura's voice preceded him, husky and cold but evoking no more fear in Marik than it had during their previous meeting. He had decided long ago that there was something entirely too total about the pale-haired spirit's calculating immorality. No one was that apathetically evil Evil in essence was emotion unrestricted. Therefore, Marik concluded, a degree of Bakura's wickedness must be artificial._

"_**Lively? Watch it. You're contradicting yourself."**_

_The spirit's leer took on a subtle edge of annoyance. __**"How so?"**_

"_**You said before that I was soulless."**__ Marik laughed. __**"How is it that the soulless live?"**__  
_

"_**They don't."**__ Bakura's sneer was gone, replaced with a look much more ugly. __**"They rot away in darkness, having learned nothing about themselves or true existence."**_

_**Nothing**__…It was Marik's turn to frown. He did not believe this. However, he didn't dispute it either. Instead the blonde fell mute and waited to see what the other spirit had lurking up his sleeve._

_Bakura approached slowly, pale, naked body a stark contrast to Marik's bronzed one. Reaching out, he traced one of the many jagged scratches running along Marik's shoulder blades and ribcage._

"_**What are these from?"**_

_Marik didn't answer._

"_**They're from your fingernails, aren't they? Tearing at yourself when the darkness becomes something past endurance."**_

_Marik kept his jaw clenched tight. Bakura could never know—__**would**__ never know—the true extent of his weakness. The way he cried and pled when the Shadows came for him. The way he laughed brokenly against the pain, begged secretly for death…again and again and again.... _

_Only one man knew his failing, had seen Marik at his most vulnerable and most human. But Rishid was not a man of exploitation, which—for Marik's sake at least—was rather beneficial. _

"_**I must admit, though." **__Bakura began to circle him, but Marik refused to be taken by his predatory advances. __**"You're refusal to die quietly is really quite amusing."**_

"_**Amusing?" **__The blonde spoke in a sort of rasping whisper. "__**That's funny, because the only thing I find amusing about our situation is you, Bakura. Your big talk, your pretensions, the fact that I came closer to accomplishing in a single day of freedom what you could not clench in 3000 years of calculation**__."_

_These words, and the balance of power shifted. Marik burned. Bakura's wickedness seemed somehow diminished…but only for an instant. Seconds later, his hand flew out and the blonde was sent sprawling backward._

_**Damn. **__He was still too weak. _

"_**Idiot!**__" Grasping him by the shoulders, Bakura hauled the blonde up until he hung at eye level. __**"Compared to me, you're nothing but a child!"**__ He struck him again, hard on the side of the head. There were no mind games this time, none of the magic or strategy that came with playing cards. Bakura's attack was one of sheer violence, spontaneous, devoid of planning. The punches hurt less than Marik expected, and he realized with a peculiar amazement that, despite all the agony he had suffered during his short existence, he had never been physically struck before._

_The attack did not last long. Bit by bit Bakura reigned in his emotions. He stopped hitting Marik but continued to stand close to him, hot breath scalding on his face. _

"_**I'm going to destroy you, Marik. Again and again until you learn your place. Creatures like you…demanding recognition, desiring so completely to be human…it pisses me off!"**_

"_**Why?"**_

_At this, Bakura sputtered, choked on his rage and for a moment betrayed his complete inability to answer this question._

_Marik laughed. "__**You're jealous, aren't you, Bakura? Because I reach out for what I desire, grasp for it without hesitation. Stupidly, maybe, but without regret. I don't need plans! I don't need deception or cheating! That's what makes us different. You may be older, wiser, more patient…but I…"**_

"_**SHUT UP!"**__ In an instant of incredible violence, Bakura brought his knee up and with exceptional force drove it between Marik's legs. At the same time, he jerked on the blonde's right arm, wrenching his shoulder completely from its socket. __**"WITHOUT REGRET?! WITHOUT DECEPTION?! YOU FUCKING IDIOT! YOU FOOL! LIFE IS REGRET! LIFE IS DECEPTION! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THIS?!"**_

_Lost in the spirit's rant and his own excruciating agony, Marik collapsed and stared up at Bakura in appreciative and fearful astonishment. He would have never thought Bakura capable of such pure, unguarded anger. _

"…_**you don't understand…how could you?" **__Bakura was smiling down on him, not mockingly or with beneficence but in a way that Marik couldn't quite describe. Something between anguish and disappointment. "__**…how could you understand anything about desire, anything about wisdom or patience or age or…or regret? These are things dreamt up by humans, felt by humans…but not by you."**_

_Leaning over him, Bakura began to touch him, stroking Marik's hair, hands, hips and sides. His own hands were so gentle, so soothing. They did not match the tortured expression on his face. _

"_**You're right about one thing, Marik. I am jealous of you. Jealous of your spontaneity, your honesty, your complete lack of human inhibitions and regret. How does that make you feel, little Marik? Knowing that the only thing I want from you is the inhumanity you wish you didn't have?"**_

_The blonde screamed as Bakura touched his injured shoulder, shoved his fingers between the socket and disjointed humerus. The area burned nearly as badly as the paler's words, blistering his conscious with their unendurable factuality. Bakura was right. He wasn't human. He couldn't be. Who was Marik to think he could be Malik? To think he could make Rishid love him? __**F-fuck.**__ He didn't even know what loving someone meant!_

"_**S-STOP IT! STOP! THAT FUCKING HURTS!" **__He thrashed, but Bakura's grip on Marik's shoulder was relentless. "__**B-BAKURA! BAKURA PLEASE! PLEASE STOP! OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH G…"**_

_He was crying. They both were. So similar. So different. One longed for humanity, the other for lack thereof. Tears spilled from evil-clouded eyes, silent and hot and with an overwhelming sincerity that only the tears of demons can possess. No one innocent, no one decent or good, may even come close to understanding such an all-consuming grief. The dazzling, bleeding sorrow that lurks beneath cruelty and madness._

"…_**st…s-stop…" **__Marik's tear-filled eyes rolled back into his head, body convulsing of its own accord. "__**…n-no…no, don't…"**_

"…_**quiet…be quiet…" **__Hand still digging into the other's injured shoulder, Bakura used his knee to nudge apart his thighs. He stared despairingly at Marik's flaccid member, realizing his own was even softer. "__**I'm going to…have to…"**_

_Utilizing his free hand and thoughts of Ryou, Bakura forced his torpid arousal to attention. He then tried to shove it into Marik's entrance, cursing when it wouldn't fit. "__**Damnit…too fucking dry…suck these…"**_

_The blonde refused to suck on Bakura's fingers, preferring instead to snap at them with his teeth. Bakura didn't even flinch. Instead, he used his own blood for lubricant, forcing his mangled fingers into Marik's entrance. The blonde fought back sluggishly but was too preoccupied with the burning in his shoulder to pay much attention to this new, more embarrassing agony. _

_On the second try, the paler spirit managed to enter. Shifting both hands to Marik's hips, he gritted his teeth against the friction and concentrated on forcing his half-erect cock in and out of the man beneath him. He tried to look at Marik's face but couldn't, vision obscured by the tears still spilling down his cheeks. Even with both arms free, the blonde barely struggled. He just lay back and took it, too exhausted, to emotionally drained to bother with resistance."__**"C-come on Marik…" **__Bakura snarled at him through his tears. __**"What's wrong with you? Don't you like it? Don't you appreciate my love?"**_

_Marik shook his head, shook his whole body. His entire frame was trembling and he did not know why. Bakura was right, though. Not even human enough to enjoy sex, how could he possibly grasp the finer points of love? _

_With what had to be a colossal effort, Bakura forced himself to climax. He pulled out of Marik with a sigh of relief and stared exhausted at the bloodied cum leaking from between his thighs. _

"_**Understand…" **__His voice was more dismal than it was cruel. "__**…you are next to nothing. And soon you will be nothing. All you're good for is fading away. You're not even human enough to die properly."**_

"_**And you're too human to ever fade, and as sure as you are human, you will die. That bothers you, doesn't it?" **_

_Bakura did not reply, but sat in silence beside the blonde for a long time. Tears dried. So did blood. The evil left behind was too despairing to be dangerous. Two creatures, one tormented by life, the other by mere existence. Sitting naked in the darkness. All they could do was tear at each other, chip off pieces until they were both broken beyond repair._

_Even the shadows, always hungry for something to hold onto, feared to touch them now. Instead, they slunk just out of reach, lapping up what tainted tears remained shimmering in the darkness._

* * *

**-TOT (The last part of this chapter pretty much consumed three hours of my Sunday afternoon. I love writing interaction between Marik and Bakura. They're such despairing characters, striving for what, by nature, they cannot have. All they know is destruction, not possessing the powers necessary to gain happiness. They cause their own suffering but are unable to stop themselves. **

**I actually got pretty emotional writing this. The end of this chapter sort of made me sad. I think everyone knows what it's like to feel unhappy and not know what to do about it. But life is good, and we carry on. Am I right? Anyway, please tell me what you think about this chapter.**

**All comments are appreciated!) **


	5. Human

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. The last few weeks have been really hectic for me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter (actually I think it's one of my crappier one), which I tried to end with something of a cliffhanger. Malik and Mariku meet in the next chapter, so I hope you'll hang on for the ride. Oh, and please review. I don't get very much feedback from readers, so it's always nice to hear that someone likes—or at least feels compelled to comment about—my work.**

**By Definition Evil**

**Part 5**

_**Human:**_ _**1. **__of people: relating to, involving, or characteristic of human beings_

_**2. **__made up of people: composed of__people__** 3. **__compassionately kind: showing kindness, compassion, or approachability__** 4. **__imperfect: having the imperfections and weaknesses of a human being__** 5. **__member of human species: a member of the species to which men and women belong__**. 6. **__person: a person, viewed especially as having imperfections and weaknesses_

* * *

Rishid Ishtar sat alone in the living room, staring sightlessly out the window. Isis was still at work and Malik was in the shower, so for the moment he was left alone.

"Mariku?"

He didn't know why he was trying to contact the creature, damned himself while at the same time praying that the Darkness would reply.

"Mariku, what did you mean when you asked me if Malik loved me back?"

Nothing. Despite himself, Rishid began to feel uneasy. The sudden emergence of the voice had shocked him and almost as badly did its absence. He didn't feel lonely without it…not by any means… However, a pang in the man's gut told him that something had gone horribly wrong.

"Hey, did you call me?" Malik appeared at the head of the stairs. Clad in nothing but a towel, his body was wet as if he'd jumped out of the shower in quite a hurry. He seemed very much recovered from his earlier episode.

"Uh…oh…n-no, I didn't. Sorry." Rishid averted his eyes from the younger's earnest expression. _This is stupid. Of course he loves me._

"Oh, my bad. I must be hearing things." Malik ran a hand through his soaking hair. His pleasant looking face was mildly puzzled and his chest and arms (more masculine, Rishid thought, than they once had been) had broken out in goose bumps. "Hey, do you think it would be all right if I used the phone later to call Ryou? I know it's long distance, but I want to let him know that I've arrived."

"That should be fine." Rishid couldn't help but raise a questioning eyebrow at the blush creeping into his brother's cheeks. "Maybe later we can visit Isis at the museum. She has some artifacts to show you."

"Sure. Just tell me when."

Malik disappeared up into his bedroom, leaving Rishid once again in solitude. He loved Isis. He'd loved the woman who took him as her son. He'd even, in a strange way, loved their father. However, what Rishid felt for Malik and what he felt for the rest of his family were completely different. One was devotion, the other a religion all its own.

And despite this love he couldn't help but think of Marik. Marik trapped in darkness, clawing at himself and laughing in agony and desperation. As hard as he tried, Rishid could not connect this Mariku with the one of Battle City, the beast who had so brutally attempted to destroy everything he loved.

Pity, it seemed, was Rishid's downfall.

Upstairs, he could hear Malik talking on the phone. He sounded sort of giddy, laughing nervously but laughing nonetheless. _What exactly is his relationship with that Ryou boy?_ Rishid felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Misplaced jealousy, he knew. Malik was young. It was only natural he make…friends. But Malik was his everything, and, though he knew his somewhat crazy love was not as fanatically reciprocated, Rishid felt just a little bit betrayed.

Betrayed and aggravated because Mariku still would not respond.

"Hey Rishid, ready to go?"

Malik appeared suddenly before him in a red tee-shirt and tightly clinging denim.

"Yes. Let me go start the car."

The blonde gave the man a nervous smile and followed him out. Inwardly, this gesture made Rishid flinch. Some of his inner turmoil must have escaped into his voice.

* * *

"Malik? Hey! How are you?"

Impalpable body stretched out upon the couch, Bakura sneered as Ryou's voice drifted in from the hallway.

"Oh, I'm all right. Not much going on here. How was your flight?"

He was talking to Malik on the phone again, and, though the spirit knew Malik would never be strong enough to break his bond with Ryou, he was more than a little bit annoyed.

"That's good. And Rishid?"

Ryou's voice was cheerful, sincerely so.

"You're sure everything's all right? You sound kind of stressed."

Truthful also was his worry.

"Okay, well tell me if there's anything I can do."

So much honesty left Bakura a little bit disgusted.

"Nice to talk to you too. Hey…umm…when you get back, how about we…err…meet up for lunch…or something?"

Disgusted and jealous.

"Really? Okay, sounds great! Bye!"

Ryou hung up, pale face flushed for once with something besides a sunburn. However, upon meeting the yami's gaze, his blush retreated, replaced by the pallor of anger and repulsion.

"_How's your __**boyfriend?**__"_

"Don't talk to me, Bakura." Ryou walked past him into the bathroom. However, he didn't bother to close the door, knowing full well that the spirit would simply walk through it.

"_So you really are angry, then?" _Setting himself as Ryou's reflection in the mirror, Bakura watched shamelessly as the boy turned on the shower faucet and began to undress himself. _"I can tell you now that Malik would not have disapproved."_

"But I do." Tossing his clothes uselessly at his tainted reflection, Ryou tested the water with his fingers before jumping beneath its tepid torrent. "No one deserves to be raped."

Bakura laughed at the hikari's ignorance. _"That, Ryou, is where you are wretchedly mistaken."_

"No." Finally, Ryou looked at him with something other than anger lingering in his eyes. "No one does, not even someone like you."

"_Am I such a monster?"_

"Yes."

"_And you hate me?"_

"Of course not."

In Ryou's words was all the sincerity Bakura had sensed when he talked to Malik. _He doesn't hate me. He should, but he doesn't._ For this the spirit was immeasurably grateful.

"I don't hate you, but if you ever interfere with Malik's yami again, I will cast you out."

At this, Bakura laughed, raucous, terrified, crazy laughter. Ryou cast him out? Ryou successfully defy him in any way at all? No. The boy was too good, too inclined towards pity, too squeamish. _"You wouldn't."_

"…no." Ryou's countenance was one of regretful resignation. "No. You're probably right."

* * *

"This is what I wanted to show you. It's certainly something, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Something…"

Shivering because of the cold temperatures of the preservation room, Marik gazed ornately carved and painted slab of granite. The stone had been carved in the shape of a pentagon, each corner surrounding the text bearing a carving of one of Hinduism's five forms of God: Vishnu, maintainer of existence, governor of the present, past and future. Devi, goddess of the feminine without which man would be impotent. Surya, supreme light, embodiment of the sun. Ganesha, the elephant-headed Remover of Obstacles. And at the topmost corner, Shiva. Shiva, destroyer of worlds.

"This is it?" Malik stared in wonder at the deity's apathetic countenance. A chill coursed through him. "This is the Gospel of Shiva? It can't be! It's too well-preserved. I mean look at the paint! They're mostly plant-based. By now they should have…"

"I know. It seems improbable, but this tablet fits exactly the description we have of the tablet!" Isis laid a hand upon his shoulder. She was smiling.

"Yeah." Malik gave the stone an incredulous look. It really was unbearably beautiful. Smooth, flawless carving. Vivid colors that defied the confines of spectrum. Even if this Gospel proved to be fake, the blonde would be unable to help wondering at the mystery of far eastern gods and flowing Sanskrit. "Maybe it is…"

For the first time in six years, Malik Ishtar allowed himself to think of magic.

* * *

_Once again, Rishid wandered through darkness. He was not afraid this time; he knew where he was going. _

_Following the malignance of the shadows, the discord of something fragile ripped suddenly asunder, he found Marik unconscious at his feet. As they had once before, the shadows swarmed around him. However, this time the Darkness did not thrash. He did not cry out. The silence was not pierced by the disharmony of his anguished laughter. Instead, Mariku lay as one stiller than a corpse._

_Panic seized hold of Rishid's brain. This creature, this creature who was not Malik and whom he did not love. How was it that his weakness could drive the man so easily to the edge of terror?_

"_Marik?"_

_He grasped the blonde's hand. However, unlike before, Marik did not gasp at his touch and regain consciousness. Instead, he remained immobile, his fingers stiff as though in death and vaguely translucent as would be a ghost's. Rishid gazed despairingly at the Darkness' near transparent hands and realized that this un-solidness had crept into his wrists and forearms. _

"_Marik, answer me."_

_Nothing. Desperately, Rishid did a visual examination of the other's body. Something was wrong with his shoulder. The man could see this clearly. Everything else, though, was obscured by the shadows that clung to him, that had not vanished this time, not even when he touched him._

"_Get off!" _

_Rishid's normally stoic voice rose angrily, and the shadows cringed, held on for a second, and finally fled with what Rishid perceived to be an almost insect-like rustling. They hesitated. Are they becoming bolder?_

_With the shadow's gone, Marik looked less ghastly. However, his body still would not respond. Rishid pulled him like a child into his lap. The blonde hung, a dead weight, in his arms. His shoulder twisted at an alarming angle. _

_It was only now that the shadows had dissipated that Rishid noticed the blood. Thick and red, there were speckles of it on his lower abdomen, dried rivulets on his thigh, on his… Until now, Rishid had avoided the reality of Mariku's nakedness, of the blonde's apparent lack of concern for it. However, he could not repress the horrified thoughts now entering his psyche. Someone else had access to the Darkness, and whoever it was had done to him something terrible. _

_Rape? Rape Marik? Rape the man who had killed the elder Ishtar, who had tortured the Pharaoh and his companions, who had battled six long years for control of Malik's mortal body? This indomitable, flaming, maddened force broken so easily? With such baseness and lack of cunning?_

"_With your love of control, I wouldn't have expected to see you on the receiving end." Rishid was struck by the cruelty and truth of his own words. Mariku did love control. Anyone who knew of his duels could understand this. Physical torment was not enough. He had dominated his victims minds as well, made them feel as helpless as…as helpless as he must have felt, shut away in darkness. _

_So rape seemed right up the blonde's alley. So, too, did suicide, which in essence seemed to have been his plan from the beginning. To die and drag the world down with him. Take away Marik's hatred and the basic wrongness of the act and one was left with something akin to bravery._

_Not that Rishid would ever utter this aloud._

"_Answer me, Marik." In an earnest attempt to warm the blonde's frigid body, he pressed his palms gently against his forehead. This was rewarded with a small sigh from the invalid, a slight twitch of a delicate and severely-angled eyebrow. _

"_Answer me."_

_How many times had he uttered these words, this insistent, almost arrogant command? Rishid was not a man attracted to authority, yet Mariku always did bring out the worst in him. _

_Again, the spirit stirred. His jaw flexed and snapped shut with a sudden, dental click. To encourage him, Rishid grabbed his arm and shook it. At last, Mariku's eyelids opened, and he let loose a hideous wail of agony._

"…_l-let go…oh god…Rishid…RISHID MY ARM!"_

_In his excitement, Rishid had pulled on the other's injured shoulder. He released with a sudden, sharp hiss, allowing Mariku to roll off of him and onto his side, cradling the abused appendage. _

"_You __**idiot!**__ You bastard, __**why**__ did you do that?" _

_Marik's countenance was as vicious as ever it had been during Battle City. His face was twisted, his pupils now pinpricks in eyes of unfathomable wideness. Even the veins in neck and forearms bulged slightly as they used to._

"_I…" All Rishid could do was shake his head, cower in the presence of such desperate anger. "I…I didn't…"_

"_SHUT UP!" Marik turned away from him. "Leave me alone Rishid! I…I-I…" His anger seemed to crack, replaced with something akin to panic or regret. "Why did I…he…I didn't think that I…that I would ever…what is this? What am I feeling?" Clenching his trembling hands tightly in his hair, the blonde moaned, helpless in his inability to escape emotion. In this moment Rishid understood what Marik was. The pitiable side of his existence that did not rise above or amend his cruelty but lurked quietly somewhere beneath it._

"_I'm sorry for hurting you, Marik. Let me fix your arm?"_

"…_fix it?"_

_The Darkness' words were a disbelieving whisper. He looked incredulous, skeptical to the supposition that anything broken could ever be mended._

"_Yes. Come here."_

_And Marik obeyed. Unable to fully control his shaking legs, he crawled to Rishid's open hand, a sort of three-legged, bleeding dog. Carefully, with as little hesitation as he could muster, he helped the creature once more onto his lap. Placing one arm on Marik upper arm and another on his tattooed shoulder blade, Rishid prepared himself._

"_I'm sorry. This will hurt." _

"_That's all right."_

_A sickening pop and a half-muffled shriek later and Marik had collapsed in a cold sweat against Rishid's chest. He buried his face deeply into the dark green cotton of the man's shirt, apparently finding the hue somewhat soothing._

"_You should get off m..."_

"_Is that your favorite color?"_

_Despite the lunacy of their situation, despite the disconcerting fact that Mariku had refused to even acknowledge his cautionary words, Rishid laughed. "You mean green?"_

"_Yes." By his clipped tone, the man judged that Marik did not find in this question anything amusing._

"_Um…I suppose. How about yourself?"_

_The blonde frowned. "I don't know. White?"_

"_W-white?" Rishid nearly choked on his perplexity. "Why white?"_

"_Because white is the absence of all other color. Nothing can hide in it."_

"_I see. Kind of boring, though, isn't it?"_

"_Maybe." Mariku peered up at him, looking for a moment unwittingly young. "I suppose black is the most interesting, being made up of all colors, but I like white. It's…"_

"_It's what?"_

"_Never mind."_

_**Understandable?**_

_**Pure? **_

_**Safe? **_

_Mariku crawled off of him again and gazed out into the darkness. "You saved me for a second time, Rishid. That must mean you like me more than you used to."_

"_Why should it matter whether or not I like you?"_

* * *

"_Because I at least want to be liked by someone." Marik barely managed to keep a sly grin from slipping onto his face. This lie, of course, was exactly what Rishid wanted…needed to hear. _

"_I guess…" Something flickered in the man's green irises. "I guess I don't dislike you, not…not now."_

_Despite himself, Marik felt a twitch of excitement. Still rubbing his aching shoulder, he waiting to see what else the other had to say._

"_Marik, may I ask you something?"_

"_Hmm…that depends on what you ask."_

"_Who did that to you?"_

_The blonde arched an uncomprehending eyebrow "Did wha…oh." He stared sickly at the blood on his legs, the blood he knew originated at his abused entrance. Feeling a sudden flush of shame at his bleeding nakedness, he attempted to cover himself with his hand. "Don't worry. There's nothing you can do abou…"  
_

"_Marik."_

_The authority in Rishid's voice was startling. So was the sudden coldness in his eyes. __**What did I do?**__ Panic seized in Mariku's chest. Somehow he had angered Rishid. __**What if he leaves and does not come back? What if I'm trapped here forever? What if…**_

"_I didn't mean to."_

_Mariku waited, eyes averted, listening with mounting despair to the other's silence. Then…_

"_You think I'm angry with __**you?**__"_

_Marik had trouble replying. His throat was dry with fear. "W-who else?"_

"_Marik, I…I…" With a sigh, Rishid reached out and tilted Marik's chin so that their eyes were level. "Marik, what do you think this is? What this…this person…has done to you?"_

"_I don't know." The blonde fumed at his own ignorance, grew annoyed at Rishid for asking such a difficult question. "This…he said that it was love."_

"…_it isn't." Rishid grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him up so they were nose to nose. "This is __**not**__ love, Marik. He was lying to you. How can you possibly believe those words!"_

"_Why not?" Mariku tried to subdue the helpless rage building up inside him. "It's not as if I have anything to compare it to! I mean, look at me! I'm not…not…"_

"_Not what?"_

"…_not human…" _

_The words sent a chill down his spine. No matter how he hardened himself, Marik could not escape the truth of them. Even if he succeeded, even if he took control of Malik's body and lived in light, would he ever be anything less than Nothing cursed with awareness of itself?_

"_That's not…"_

"_True? Of course it is. You said so yourself." Mariku remembered now. He remembered perfectly. "We are not human because we hope. We hope because we're human."_

"…_I said that?"_

"_At the end of Battle City, yes. You said it to Ma…to the other me."_

_Rishid shook his head. "Discount it, Marik. I don't even know what those words mean anymore."_

"_It's simple. They mean I can hope as much as I want, and I still will not be human. I still will not escape the shadows. I still will not understand one thing about what it is to love."_

_Mariku said this without emotion, without even a hint at the regret and anger building deep inside him, but Rishid was touched by these words. He placed his calloused palm tenderly on the blonde's cheek. _

"_You're a lot of things, Marik, but inhuman isn't one of them."_

"_Liar."_

_Mariku leaned forward and placed a kiss on the man's dishonest lips._

_To be continued…_

* * *

-**UsuakariTOT **

**Please review.**


	6. Love

**A/N: Sorry for such a long wait. I hope you like this chapter, and thank you as always for support. And remember to review!**

**By Definition Evil**

**Part 6**

**Love: 1. **_vti feel tender affection for somebody: to feel tender affection for somebody such as a close relative or friend, or for something such as a place, an ideal, or an animal __**2. **__vti__feel desire for somebody: to feel romantic and sexual desire and longing for somebody __**3**__. vt like something very much: to like something, or like doing, something very much__** 4.**__ passionate attraction and desire: a passionate feeling of romantic desire and sexual attraction __**5**__. very strong affection: an intense feeling of tender affection and compassion __**6**__. romantic affair: a romantic affair, possibly sexual __**7**__. somebody much loved: somebody who is loved romantically or sexually__** 8**__. strong liking: a strong liking for or pleasure gained from something __**9**__. something eliciting enthusiasm: something that elicits deep interest and enthusiasm in somebody. __**10**__. beloved: used as an affectionate word to somebody loved (informal) __**11**__. U.K. term of friendly address: used as a friendly term of address, usually to a woman (informal) __**12**__. Christianity God's love for humanity: in Christian belief, the mercy, grace, and charity shown by God to humanity __**13**__. Christianity worship of God: in Christian belief, the worship and adoration of God __**14**__. sports leisure score of zero: a score of zero in some sports and games, e.g. tennis, squash, and whist_

* * *

_Rishid's first reaction, quite honestly, was one of sheer revulsion; he pushed away instantly, lashed out with no regard for the blonde's already injured body. His only thoughts were of escape because…because what Marik had just said he knew now to be true._

_There was no humanity behind that kiss. Like a marionette, Marik performed the action and, like a marionette, he understood nothing of what it meant. _

_At the sound of the spirit's rasping laughter, Rishid knew that Marik, too, was viciously aware of his own shortcomings. He stared in mute despair at the wretched creature. _

"_I told you. Liar."_

"_I'm sorry."_

_This was the only thing Rishid could say. He __**was**__ sorry, truly, deeply sorry. "I…I didn't realize…"_

"_That's okay. I didn't either. Not at first." Mariku's gaze betrayed no regret. It was an emotion, Rishid thought, that he refused to feel. However, the blonde's customary anger was gone as well. His calmness brought about in Rishid a whole new kind of fear. _

"_You see, I entertained the idea of humanity once, and then the idea of lack there of. However, as you can see,"—was that a self-deprecating smile playing at his lips?—"neither quite worked out for me."_

"_But you're still trying."_

"_Trying to what?"_

"_To be human." Rishid swallowed dryly and continued. "That's why you contact me, isn't it?"_

* * *

_**Damn. Damn. DAMN IT! He knows! He…he fucking…**_

_Marik fought hard to hold on to himself, to keep his head from spinning and his consciousness from running liquid through his fingers. He had to think…think logically._

_**Logically? Me? **_

_Despite himself, the blonde burst out laughing. Judging by the horrified look on Rishid's face, this was exactly what he should not have done._

_And to think, it had been going so well! He'd had Rishid feeling guilty, feeling bad for him! He'd never have dreamed that his foray with Bakura would somehow improve his situation, but it had worked perfectly. Rishid was eating from the palm of his hand. As to whether or not Marik's emotions had been real or fabricated remained uncertain even to himself._

_The kiss, though. The kiss revealed too much. He hadn't been thinking, had been too caught up in his role, had forgotten where the act ended and the truth began. And the truth was that he wasn't human and that humanity was not something that could be taught._

_But it could be stolen. He had to believe in this._

"_Rishid, you should go." Marik couldn't believe he was saying this, but he had to…had to say something. "I'm not…not…"_

_Wordlessly, the larger man shook his head. His eyes were still afraid, but his jaw was set. He wouldn't leave._

_**What a genuinely good person**__. _

_Coming from Marik, this wasn't necessarily a compliment, but a part of him was a little bit relieved. Perhaps he hadn't blown his chance after all._

"_You try so hard to be human." Rishid was speaking. With what resolve he had left, Marik forced himself to calm down and listen. "When you found out you could reach me, you did just that. I'm that connection to the living world, aren't I?"_

"_More than that." The lie came too easily to the blonde's agile tongue. "I __**need**__ you. Why do you think I chose you instead of Isis or…or __**him**__...?"_

_His lighter half. God, Marik did not want to think of that. _

"_I…"_

_At a loss for words. That was good, right?_

"_I am loyal to Master Malik." Rishid frowned severely, his green eyes suddenly cold. "I cannot allow you…anyone…to tempt me from the destiny I have chosen." _

"…_yes." Marik was aware of himself grinning angrily, of his legs shaking and the Shadows so cold their touch reached even from a distance. "Malik. That's right. You must think of Malik…think always of Malik…because you love Malik very much."_

"_That's…that's right." _

"_And he loves you."_

"…"

"_Am I right?"_

"…"

"_Am I?"_

"_Yes!" Rishid's voice cracked suddenly. Astonished perhaps by his own astonishment, his green eyes grew unimaginably wide. "Yes, Marik. He does, and I refuse to play your mind games any longer!"_

_And then he was gone._

_And Mariku was alone._

_And very frightened._

* * *

Since the incident in the bathroom, Malik had become uneasy. There was something wrong with him. The voice he heard gazing into Rishid's eyes…it had taken a great deal of healing for Malik to regain the assurance of his sanity. Relapse was not an option. If the voice returned, he would refuse to hear it, even avoid Rishid…if he had to.

_But why would it target Rishid? He's incorruptible, right?_

No! Malik couldn't think like this! He had to believe in his own mental soundness, that the madness of Battle City had forever ended. There was no voice. No voice save his own.

"Malik!"

The blonde gasped. The blood in his veins froze over and refused to flow. He'd forgotten what it was to feel so afraid.

"Malik?"

The terror passed. It was only Isis, his beautiful, blue-eyed sister, Isis. She gave him a quizzical look.

"Is something wrong?"

A shiver—from the preservation room's temperature this time—infiltrated Malik's tissues. He gave Isis a weak smile. "No. You just shocked me. I was…lost in thought."

"Ah." The woman smiled back, but her keen eyes seemed almost wary. "I see."

"Y-yeah."

_Does she know? Can she see what I am thinking?_

"We should go. It's getting late."

"You're right. It's almost seven."

_Maybe she thinks I haven't changed. Maybe they both think that._

"Anything you have in mind for dinner?"

"No. I'm not picky."

_And what if they're right? What if I'm still at risk of…of…?_

Numbly, Malik followed his sister to the car. It had been a long time since he had held stock in such thoughts. He wanted to believe he was normal…but he had looked into Rishid's eyes and, doing so, his mind had screamed with words that were not his own.

_But green? Why green?_

Green like Rishid's eyes. This thought made Malik nauseous. Above all else, he could not bring Rishid into another Battle City scenario. The man had suffered enough. Malik didn't…didn't want to cause more trouble for the only person who had never left his side.

He had to believe that he could handle this alone.

_Ryou. _Thoughts of the boy crept in subversively. If only he could talk to him! Ryou always knew what to do. He was so calm, so together, almost as if he were still untainted. Though of course he wasn't. No one touched by shadow magic could ever claim real purity, but Ryou's false innocence, at least, was more believable than Malik's. Staring at his reflection in the car window, the blonde wondered just what he looked like to other people.

_Probably outgoing. Probably confident. Probably reformed yet a little bit maniacal. _Malik didn't feel any of these things. What he felt was lost. Depressed sometimes. He wasn't generally unhappy, necessarily, but things…things could have been better.

_Maybe this is just what it's like to be normal. Without living underground or starting cults or being taken over by the voice inside my head. Pretty dull, eh?_

Malik chuckled under his breath, though, in truth, his situation wasn't all that funny.

"Did you say something?" Isis regarded him quizzically from the corner of her eye.

"N-no, I was just…just wondering what Rishid's been up to all day. You said he had a day off from working at the museum."

"Yes, well hopefully he's scrounged up something to eat. I really can't think of anything."

Malik laughed loudly this time. "Quit stressing, Isis! Ra knows we've been through worse than an unsatisfactory palate."

"Yes." The woman offered one of her rare, brilliant smiles. "I suppose you're right about that."

"Though stir fry does sound good."

"Good thing you're not picky, then." Isis was still smiling.

The Ishtars had never been a normal family; they never would be, but there were occasional, brief and miraculous instances in which Malik could almost pretend their lives were normal…whatever normal meant.

Still, Malik's fears would not be silenced. His senses were dominated by foreboding. Ryou. As soon as the blonde got a moment alone, he would have to call him.

Normal. The word itself turned Malik green with envy.

* * *

Rishid had been staring at the wall for fifteen minutes. The phone rang. Somewhere in the house a moth beat itself silly against a light bulb. But as far as Rishid was concerned, the world consisted only of his thoughts, of the blank, impersonal, _white_ wall glowering back at him.

_White. He said white was his favorite color. _

He should have felt relieved, proud of himself. The demon had enticed him, but at the last minute Rishid had escaped. He knew where his loyalties truly lay. He knew that…that he would return…eventually.

_Rape. Someone actually raped him._

This knowledge forever ruined Rishid's schema of good and evil, of who pain affected and how and why. Embarrassment. Guilt. Anger. Desperate rationalization. Mariku had reacted to the trauma as any human would.

This was a paradox Rishid found most disconcerting: that something so clearly inhuman could be capable of such humanity.

And just as he felt this revelation was about to overwhelm him completely, the front door opened and his siblings' voices momentarily drowned out Rishid's dark epiphany.

"Hello." He forced himself to smile as Malik entered the living room. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good." Malik flopped down on the couch beside him. "That Gospel of Shiva sure is something; though I'm not convinced it's genuine."

Isis appeared in the doorway. "Yes. We'll have to run more tests."

Rishid pretended to listen as Isis and Malik continued to converse. In truth, he was too preoccupied with avoiding Malik's face to have the slightest idea what was being talked about. What he saw in the blonde's countenance was not Malik; something about it was too dark, too desperate, too utterly alone.

It was only after Malik had left to call Ryou and Isis to make dinner that Rishid was finally able to relax. He stared again at the blank wall and sighed.

"Marik…"

* * *

_Well, I can't say the vacation wasn't nice. _

Strolling across the campus at the university in Cairo was never a pleasant experience at the noonday hour. To say the air was hot to Ryou seemed a gross understatement. It felt as if he were being cooked alive, slowly broiled in an inescapable, sunny soup. He worried constantly about sunburn, and the boy's textbooks felt sticky beneath his sweaty palms.

"_**Does Malik make you feel this hot?"**_

Ryou ignored the voice inside his head and kept walking. He was going to go home, take a cold shower, and attack his monumental pile of homework. He refused to allow Bakura or anyone else to pester him.

"_**Is he loud when he comes? His yami sure as hell is."**_

Biting his lip, Ryou picked up the pace. Though it wasn't as if he could walk away from something inside of him

"_**Screams like a fucking slut."**_

Why was Bakura so hung up on the Malik issue anyway?

"_**Come on, Ryou. Tell me! Was Malik the same way when you fucked him?"**_

This was becoming ridiculous.

"_**Then again, he wasn't the one who got fucked."**_

"That's enough, Bakura." Ryou knew full well that this response would only drive the spirit further, but he was already irritable and could no longer contain himself. He was tired of the spirit's fervent hatred, of his hysterical cruelty and ridiculous paranoia. Sometimes, he felt he really was insane.

"_**Not much like his yami, I guess. Marik sure did like it up the ass."**_

"I said that's enough!" Ryou was breathing hard now and was conscious of the stares of some wary passers by. "Do you think I'm stupid? Even a monster like him couldn't have enjoyed being raped!"

Silence followed. Ryou made it to his dorm room and spread himself exhausted on the bed. Screw the shower. He just wanted to sleep. But as the boy finally began to drift off, Bakura's voice once more infiltrated his thoughts:

"_**You're right, actually. He even cried for me."**_

"Bakura…"

"_**Can you imagine? Yami Malik crying?"**_

"_Yes!_ I can imagine anything involving you!" Taken with a rarely kindled but potent rage, Ryou overturned his nightstand, listening with grim satisfaction as it cracked sharply against the floor. He felt so helpless when Bakura was like this! Undermined by his own altruistic nature. "Why are you taking your insecurities out on him? Why not Malik?"

"…_**because if I touched Malik…you really would leave me, wouldn't you? You're in love with him."  
**_

"I…I am, Bakura, but I also…" Ryou clenched his head in agony as a wrath that was not his own overwhelmed his consciousness. "I-I…stop it…stop!"

"_**I WON'T LET YOU LEAVE ME, RYOU! I'LL KILL HIM! DAMNIT, I'LL KILL BOTH OF YOU!" **_

"You…you won't kill anyone…" Sinking to his knees, Ryou allowed his eyes to close. Before him now was Bakura, face set in a demonic snarl. "Come here." He offered the spirit a weak smile. "You know I'll never leave you. Let me…let me prove it."

But Bakura's temper would not be pacified. His eyes continued to blaze, and, as he drew nearer, Ryou began to feel afraid.

"_**No, Ryou." **_His voice was low and dangerous. _**"You will never leave me. Up until now, I have permitted you control, but that ends today. I can't trust you any longer, not while he is in the picture."**_

"Bakura, if you hurt Malik I swear I'll…"

The spirit laughed. _**"You'll what? Banish me? You admitted it yourself, Ryou. You simply don't have the stomach."**_

_He's right. _The boy's body shook, suddenly wrapped in the spirit's cold embrace. _I can't…could never…because I…_

"_**I'm going to take you, Ryou. Take you as roughly as I took Marik."**_

The boy smiled, setting his palm gently against the spirit's cheek. "No, you won't."

"_**The hell I won't!" **_Bakura's grip on the living boy tightened. He glared and shook him with a desperate fury. _**"I have to make you understand, Ryou, that I…"**_

"That you love me? I get it, Bakura. I always have." Gently, Ryou pulled the spirit into a kiss. "You're a good liar, but so am I. I can tell. That's why I…"

"_**Shut up!" **_Reeling back, Bakura struck the boy with all his strength. _**"Don't mock me, idiot! You know nothing!" **_Unfastening both Ryou's and his pants, Bakura smiled lewdly. _**"Let me remind you what true fear tastes like."**_

"You won't!" Ryou was crying now, tears sliding easily down his cheeks. "You won't rape me!"

Bakura merely cackled. _**"And why, pray tell, is that?"**_

"Because people shouldn't hurt the ones they love!"

"_**You idiot." **_Again, Bakura lashed out. There was blood on Ryou's lips now, on his own trembling knuckles. He hit him over and over, relishing in the bruises, in the hurt look on his hikari's face. Only when the boy lost consciousness did he relent. He stared at Ryou's roughed up face, at his own blood-covered hands. His vision was swimming. _**"How could I ever love you, Ryou? Someone so weak and pitiful?"**_

The boy did not reply, and in the silence Bakura was able to collect himself. No. He didn't—_couldn't_—love Ryou, but this didn't mean that the boy could be loved by someone else. Ryou belonged to him. He always would.

The soft vibrations of the hikari's cell phone broke Bakura from his musings. He fished the phone from Ryou's pocket and stared at the caller id for a moment before breaking suddenly into an angry laugh. _**"I'm sorry Ryou." **_He murmured as he slowly took control of the boy's unconscious body. _**"But this farce has gone on long enough. It's time for me to end things permanently."**_

He took up the phone.

"Hello?"

* * *

"Hey, Ryou. How are you?"

"_Fine, thanks. And yourself?"_

Malik shook with relief at the sound of the other's voice. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted to be near Ryou, to cling to the reassurance of his voice. "I'm alright. I just wanted to…to talk to you, I guess."

Soft laughter on the other end. "_What a coincidence. I was actually thinking of calling you myself. Is everything still going well with your family?"_

"Uh, I guess. I…well actually, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." Malik sank down against the comfort of his mattress. He didn't know why, but talking to Ryou suddenly made him a bit uneasy. "It's Rishid, again. He's been acting so…so strange."

"_Oh?"_

"And this morning…Ryou, please! Please don't think I'm crazy, but I…I looked into his eyes and…and…" Choking on his fear, Malik began to hyperventilate. He didn't know how to say it, how to convey to Ryou the sheer terror of his situation.

"_It's okay, Malik. Just calm down and go slowly. You can tell me."_

Forcing his rebellious lungs to gasp for air, Malik tried to collect his thoughts. "It was this morning…I was looking at him and suddenly…there was this…this _voice_…in my head. It…I-I think…" Dread seeped in, undermined his reason. What if Ryou left him because of this? What if he decided he was took crazy and just… "R-Ryou, I think it was him!"

"…_your yami?"_

"Yes."

"_Malik, that's…are you certain?"_

"I don't know! I…Ryou, please! I'm not crazy! I-I just…green. He…that thing…said 'green.' Why would it…"

"_Calm down." _The unusual harshness of Ryou's tone sobered Malik almost instantly. _"If your yami truly has returned, you have to act quickly. You said the voice was triggered when you met Rishid's gaze. Do you think it's possible that Ma…that your dark side has somehow manipulated him?"_

Malik struggled to choke back the panic building inside him. "That's…that's what I'm afraid of. Rishid has been acting weird lately, not possessed or anything but sort of…detached."

"…_Malik, have you ever tried to reach him, mentally I mean?"_

"W-who? Rishid?"

"_You know who I mean."_

"Are you kidding, Ryou? Of course not! He would try to kill me, try to take over again! I'm sure of it!"

It was a minute before Ryou answered. When he did speak, the words came out with a repressed, fevered slowness. _"He'd want to, sure, but if your yami had that power, why would he bother trying to get at you through Rishid?"_

"I…I don't know…I'm sorry, I just…" Malik detested himself for the weakness of his words. "…it's hard to think straight…with all of this…"

"_It's…alright. I understand."  
_

Thank God for Ryou and his infinite patience.

"_But, Malik, this really is serious. If your yami is trying to infiltrate Rishid's thoughts…who knows what might happen."_

"You're right. I don't want him to…to suffer again on my account."

"_Of course not. That's why you have to find out for sure. Chances are Rishid is perfectly fine, maybe going through a bad week or two, but your yami's involvement is worth looking into."_

"Y-yeah." Once again Malik felt his heart rate begin to accelerate, his veins throbbing with blood. "I owe Rishid that much and more."

"_In order to contact your yami, you will have to be in an extremely relaxed mental state." _Ryou's normally compassionate voice was all business. _"That might be hard considering…"_

"Don't worry. I understand."

"_Well, then. Do your best." _

"Thank you…hey, Ryou?"

"…_yes?"_

"It's nothing. I just…" Malik laughed depreciatively at his own hesitance. "It's just that, well, when I get back to Egypt do you think we could…I don't know…meet up again?"

"_Of…of course. I'd love to, Malik. You're very important to me."_

Malik smiled; he felt somehow lighter. "That…that makes really happy. Anyway, I'd better go. Can I call you again sometime?"

"_Please do. And keep me updated on the details involving Rishid."_

"Sure thing. Goodbye."

"_Goodbye, Malik."_

The line went dead. Both terrified and somehow elated, Malik allowed the cell phone to slip from his trembling fingers. Something wasn't right about this, but what other options did he have? _I won't let Rishid sacrifice himself for my mistakes. Not this time._

* * *

The moment he hung up the phone, Bakura burst into a bout of raucous laughter. It had been too easy! He never remembered Malik being so incredibly foolish. _Desperation, then. He must really be terrified. _

If there was one thing Bakura understood, it was how to manipulate fear.

"Did you hear that, Ryou? He's going to contact Marik."

"…" There was no reply, but Bakura could sense the hikari's presence, burning with brilliant anger in the shared corridors of their minds.

"And Rishid's involvement in all of this certainly is curious, eh? Remind me to ask Mariku about it next time I visit him."

No response again, and Bakura began to feel uneasy. He knew that, at any time, Ryou could regain control of his body. The Sennen Ring was gone and Bakura was only capable of possession for short periods of time, and then only when Ryou was in a state of weakness. "You know, it was pretty easy tricking Malik into believing I was you. Makes one wonder if he likes you that much after all."

For an instant, Bakura was engulfed by a sulfurous, almost chemical-smelling heat. He saw white. His teeth began to ache. Then, quite suddenly, the spirit found himself floating near the ceiling, gazing down at Ryou, once again in control. In control and crying.

"_I'm sorry Ryou." _Sinking down beside the distraught boy, Bakura wrapped invisible arm around his shoulders. _"I did it for your own sake, Ryou, and for mind. You see, Malik…"_

"Don't." Bakura flinched as Ryou jerked disgustedly away. "Don't touch me! Don't even lookc at me, you bastard! You monster! I …"

_"…Ryou…"_

But, for once, Ryou was too angry to be affected by this dangerous tone of voice. His mouth was set, his brown eyes weirdly cold. "I've had enough. You're leaving."

"_As if you could make me d…"_

A cold sensation rose suddenly in Bakura's stomach. His vision dulled, ears swam as though with echoes. It was as if he was his own vitality slipping through his fingers. Not like death, but equally as terrible

"_Ryou…Ryou, no…"_

Juxtaposing the unkempt swarm of color that overtook the rest of his eyesight, the hikari's visage remained incredibly clear. His gaze was fixed on Bakura, lips set in a thin, emotionless line. All and all he looked callous, more callous than the spirit had ever taken him for.

"I'm stronger than you now, Bakura. We both understand that."

"_Ryou, listen, I…"_

"No." Ryou stood, his normally compassionate face perfectly expressionless. "I have listened long enough. I have reasoned with you. I have forgiven you. I have even allowed you to stay beside me…only to be repaid with distrust and hatefulness. It is you who is going to listen now. Bakura, you will never again hurt the ones I love."

Ryou's rage-lent eloquence was almost as startling as the rage itself.

"…_don't…" _Bakura could feel darkness seeping into him, gaining strength as Ryou began to forcibly sever the link they shared. _"Ryou, you don't have it in you!"_

But he did have _it_ in him, had spent six long years accumulating _it_ and watching _it_ grow. After so long, Ryou's wrath was fully ripe. What had so laboriously been nurtured now at last was sown. Bakura screamed in terror as his surroundings began to fade to black. He could hear the shadows that so torturously embraced Marik calling out for him as well. Without his connection with Ryou—with the bright shield of his intoxicating goodness—Bakura would no longer be immune to them.

"_Ryou! Stop this immediately!"_

The coldness had worked its way from Bakura's stomach down his legs and up into his throat and mouth. What remained of Ryou's countenance regarded him with the same carefully emotionless gaze.

"Tell me, then. Tell me the truth."

"…_I-I'm sorry, Ryou! I won't…"_

"I don't want an apology!" For a moment something like hurt flashed across Ryou's gaze. "I just want to hear it coming from your lips, the truth you won't admit even to yourself."

"_What?!" _Bakura was desperate now, willing to say anything. Fear had overridden everything, including pride. _"What truth are you talking about?!"_

The hikari's soft, porcelain lips curved into a smile. "Tell me that you're in love with me."

_**That's it? **_Bakura could have laughed for joy. Three words, and Ryou would forgive him.

"_I love you."_

In an instant reality was reasserted. The cold leeched from his body, his vision cleared, and the shadows retreated into nothing with a hiss of biting fury. Bakura was once again sitting across from Ryou, whose face burned with a weak, irresistibly human emotiveness.

"_You idiot. Was that all it took?" _

Saying nothing, Ryou Bakura began to cry.

* * *

**-UsuakariTOT**

**Please Review!**


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